
i 





Book__J_44 , 



^! 



dovaston's 

3^oem0. 

Third Edition, with Additions, 



i 



t 



I 



J9oem0, 

IiEGENDARY, INCIDENTAI., 



.^ir^ 



HUMOROUS, 



JOHN R Ml DOVASTON, Esq. A. M, 



" The Earth has Bubbles, as the Water hath, 
" And these are of them." ^ 

^,,_ — -— — ,.,^^ MACBETH, 

'J;:Sy OF $o^. 




Printed and Bepuhlished by and for W. Morris^ Shrewsbury, 
23rd April, 1825.. 



J 



TO 

THE REVEREND 

CHARLES ARTHUR ALBANY LLOYD, A. M. 

RECTOR OF WHITTINGTON, 

THE BALLAD OF 

^ EITZ- GWA IR IN E^ . 

IS INSCRIBED, 

BY HIS ^RIEN'O, 
JOHN F. M. DOVASTON. 

Mrsery, Westfilton, Salop, 
May, 1811. 



TO MY FRIEND 

On his Metrical Romance of Fitz-Gwarirte. 



Cambria, thy harp too long untouch' d hath been, 
Save by the mountain-wind's far-roving wing 

That waves the fern on Breidden, light and green, 
It's sweet notes swelling on each trembling string. 

But DovAsTON has borne it from the wild. 
To ring in halls where Gwarinb's sons abide, 
Their daughters smil'd to hear his preludes tried. 
And liail'd him early Fancy's wayward child. 
A bolder note he strikes ; the Chief attends, 

Uprise the tow'rs of Whittington spell-wrought, 

While o'er his harp the lovely Clarice bends, 
And tempers mildly sweet each glowing thought. 

Listen his lays, for, while they vibrate clear, 

Past age's clouds roll off, and distant times appear. 

JJ. RYLANCE. 

LmdQUf Navemher, 1812, 



A BALLAD W^tife'wlffi^tf^Bbil^ 

. IN THREE CANXQS.., 

1. 



Brrz-GWARINE— jLorc? of the Cofftle^ 

Sir Albany— a captive Knight, 

Sir Wrenoc de Lis — a Knight of the English Court, 

John of Raumpayne — a Soothsayer^ 

CLkTHCU'^Daughter of FitZ' Gwarine, 
Marion— -JPaw^A^er of Sir Joos of Normandy » 



The Scene is entirely in and near Whittington Castle; 
^ind the Time a 0ay and Night in Summer. -^ 




J^it^(itDa^n^ ^ 



CANTO I. 



Blithe in a BrMsh-border Hall 
(Near Whitting'to^r^ld^ cj^stle wall 
With weeds and ^iM^o^*rs hung) 

M * f 

t^en feasted had each gallant .guest, ^^ 
Thm^^gend at his Lord's requestj;;' *% 

A youthful minstrel sung. 
Much doubting how his rustic lays 
Could L y»e such curious ears to please^ 
Tho* many c list'ning lady nigh 
With rapture fir'u k*'* truant eye. 






( 2 ) 

Why — (as Village tales recite) 
Yon castle's gloomy tow'r beside. 

Is dimly seen at fall of night 

A Phantom vested all in white 
Along the lake to glide. 

Where yon old window's ruins rude. 

Appear inverted in the flood; 

And then, as fades the twilight grey. 

Glides with the curling mist away? 

In ancient days of high renown 
Not always did yon castle frown 

With ivy-crested brow; 
Nor were its' walls with moss embrown'd. 
Nor hujig the lanky weeds around 

That fringe its' ruins now. 
Other hangings decked the wall 
Where now the nodding foxgloves tall 

Their spotty hoods unfold; 
Harebells there with bugloss vie, 
And gilliflowers of yellow dye. 
Seem now, to musing Fancy's eye, 
To mock the mimic tapestry 

That flaunted there of old. 



( 3 ) 

Other guests than yon lone bird, , 
And other music here was heard 

In times of better days; 
Festive revelry went round 
The board with blushing goblets crown'd^ 
And costly carpets clad the ground 

Where now yon cattle graze. 
Days were those of splendour high. 
Days of hospitality. 

When to his rich domain 
WelcomM many a crested knight, 
WelcomM many a lady bright, 

Fitz-Gwarine of Loraine, 



Sires were his from days of yore 
That all the same distinction bore 

Of title and of name; 
A name that Valour^s blazon'd blade 
In feats of chivalry had made 

The favourite of Fame, 
He oft in border-battle sped. 
And many a noble captive led 



( 4 ) 

Back to the walls of Whittington, 
And soon each foeman's friendship won; 
For Kindness soon can reconcile 
Adversity herself to smile. 
Can soften Disappointments* frown. 
And line the captive's chain with down. 
This knew full many a captive lord 
At famM Fitz-G wariness friendly hoard; 
This knew each captive stranger nigh 
Except the knight Sir Albany. 

" Sir Albany," Fitz-Gwarine said, 

" Crown high thy cup with sparkling red^ 

And cheer thy drooping soul; 
Thy bravery Fame trumpets loud. 
And makes thy host, Fitz-Gwarine, proud 

To pledge thee with his bowl: 
What if for once Fame tells the fate 
That waited on thy courage late 

By Vyrnwy's river shewn? 
She'll also tell in praises high. 
How rushing on too daringly 
To save thy comrades' liberty, 

Thou'st sacrificM thy own. 



( 5 ) 
" Too soon for me thy friends will bring 
" A noble ransom from thy king : 
" I marvePd much they were so slow 
" As not to send two moons ago, 
*' When home thy friends were ransom'd hence, 
" That thou no message had^st from thence. 
" I bade thee, knowing well thy heart, 
" Upon thy honour to depart; 
" Yet do*st thou on thy honour stay 
*' Till ransomM by thy friends away. 
'' Fill with sparkling wine thy bowl, 
'" Fill with hope thy ebbing soul; 
" And tell us why amid our cheer 
" Thou alone art joyless here, 
" Why each night, at Sorrow's call, 
" Thou leav^st our gayly-taperM hall, 
"To mark the pale moon's liquid beam 
" Play on yon poplar-bordered stream? 

" Pity 'tis the manly heart 
" Should e'er affliction find, 

" Pity 'tis Reflection's dart 

'* Should hurt the upright miiid; 



( 6 ) 

** Yet minds unconscious of alloy 

"Sometimes affliction loads; 
" Or with some dear departed joy 
" Too busy memory goads; 
"Or why should silent grief entwine 
" A heart. Sir Albany, like thine ? " 

" Hours there are," the knight replied, 
*' Tho' unto sorrow near allied, 

" Yet such to me their worth, 
" While pensive o'er the past I range 
" That hour, tho* sad, I would not change 

*' For many a day of mirth. 
** Through the Summer's evening long, 
" Listening to the small birds* song, 
" I love to wander all alone, 
*' Brooding on joys that long are gone; 
•' Or sit beside a green-hedge bank 
"Where the fern grows long and rank, 
** With many a peeping floweret bright 
*' Of red or yellow, blue or white; 
" O then, of melancholy full, 
"My throbbing soul I love to lull, 
** 'Mid clouded Hope, and Memory dulH 



{ ' ) 

* Yet beams from both I borrow 
" That do my heart with rapture fill, 
" (Like sunbeams on a distant hill) 

" And gild the gloom of sorrow. 

" Long were my tale, and tedious too, 
" (Ah ! pleasing here, I fear, to few,) 
*' Should I my present grief renew 

" By naming pleasures gone; 
" But, if my noble host's inclined, 
" The tale of woe that haunts my mind, 
" Fll briefly tell when him I find 

" At leisure, and alone. 
"Yet think not I was always sad; 
"The time has been no heart so glad 

" To join the festive ring; 
" Nor then was there a guest more gay 
" To chaunt the merry roundelay, 
" Or to the harp's responsive key 

" The ballad blithe to sing. 
" But joys, like flow'rs, too soon decay^ 

"Too soon give place to sorrow; 
" For where a rose has blown to-day, 
" Yon'U find a thorn to-morrow,''* 



( 8 ) , 

Paus'd here the knight; for none of all 

The guests throughout the festive hall 

SeemM of his speech to mark a word. 

But careless sat around the board. 

One, leaning on his neighbour's chair. 

Told him how Ring wood chasM the deer; 

DescribM each thicket, wood, and glade. 

Each close pursuit, each doubling made> 

How they through birchy Blodwell came. 

And forded Morda's brawling stream. 

Another praisM his favorite steed, 

UnmatchM in beauty, strength, or speed. 

While this, upon his elbow laid. 

Sat mute, and with his goblet play'd. 

And that, in the mix'd converse blending. 

Was speaking now, and now attending, 

Half-list'ning to his neighbour's talk, 

Twirling a cherry by the stalk. 

And oft, amid the merry tattle. 

The toastman's empty cup would rattle^ 

Beating the board as he addressed 

The next to name her he lov'd best. 
With various voice the table jung. 

And half a line was sometimes sung. 



( 9 ) 

And sometimes at a story's pause 
Burst the loud laugVs sincere applause. 

Yet think not 'mid this merry cheer 
That all were inattentive here 

In festive laughter lost; 
I only said the guests were so. 
While spoke the stranger-knight of woe. 

For ah! not so the host: 
He marked the stranger's altering brow. 
Now bright with joy, and darkening now. 

As beam'd or gloom'd his mind; 
His features seem'd for smiling made. 
Where joy unwilling seemM to fade. 
Just like a landscape in the shade 

Where sun-beams just have shin'd. 
But well the kind Fitz-Gwarine knew. 
Where silent grief of mind is true. 

And time must heal the heart. 
How vain the kindest comfort's found, 
^Tis but to fret a closing wound. 

And so encrease the smart. 
Then to the knight he smiling said 
(As gently on his arm he laid 



( 10 ) 
His friendly hand) *' Sir knight, I pray 
*' Tell me thy tale some other day; 
"And now, the pastime to prolong, 
" Afford my gallant friends a song. 
*' Thou hast a favorite plaintive air 
" That from thy flute I sometimes hear, 
" What time thy walk thou dost pursue 
" As gently falls the evening dew. 
" The notes, so delicate and coy, 
" Are touchM to tell of grief and joy ; 
*' The very verses seem to float 
*' And love to linger on the note : 
" Then sing. Sir Albany, the song 
" That sure must to that lay belong." * 

The knight complied, a harp he strung. 
And thus to " The ashen grove" he sung. 

(Welsh x\ir. — Llwyn-on.) 
Thro* the tints of the rainbow the tree that we* re viewing 

Soft-colour* d and lovely at distance appears; 
But on to the grove the delusion pursuing 

We find the wet foliage all dripping with tears; 



( 11 ) 

So the soft beams of Hope to the heart of the lover 
Illumine with rapture some lingering day ; 

But Time, gliding on, leads him there to discover 
His joys, like the rainbow, all faded away. 

From the gloom of the shower to the past valley turning, 

It smiles yet behind in the beams of the sun; 
The lover alike, disappointed and mourning, 

Remembers in sorrow the joys that are gone* 
But transient alike are the ray and the shower. 

The show'r that shall freshen the fields to the ray; 
And Adversity* s clouds o'er the lover that lower 
Shall brighten his joy ivhen they're faded away. 

The notes along the castle swell 
And search responsive Echoes cell. 
Who, from the vaulted roof on high. 
Gave the last note in symphony. 

The hall's great western window gleams 
To the sun's descending beams 
That 'twixt the fretted munnions fall 
And mark them slanting on the wall. 
While over head the rays decline 
In many a level lengthened line. 



It 



( 12 ) 
Noir walk the guests as lists them forth. 
And leave in groups the hall of mirth; 
Some within the castle court 
To manly exercise resort; 
Or else in playful pastime rove 
Beyond the moat in the ashen grove: 
While others gallantly repair 
To dally with the ladies fair, 
(And many a lovely maid was there) 
For cheerless is the place, I ween. 
Where soothing woman is not seen. 
And rugged sure is that ahode 
Where female foot has never trode. 

But Alhany, no care had he 

To join the company so gay. 

But forth he walked alone; 

And did his heedless footsteps urge 

Beyond the oak-wood*s farthest verge. 
While the last sunbeams shone. 

They shone o'er Berwin's mountains high. 

And gilt the tow'rs of Oswestry, 

With the rich vale below; 



( 13 ) 

Aud did their latest lustre shed 
To grace old Breidden's lofty head 
With crown of golden glow. 
And earliest and latest still 
They love to kiss that honoured hill. 

. Against an oak^s grey-lichenM side. 
Whose crooked roots a seat supplied. 

Awhile the knight reclinM; 
And much it sooth* d him to survey 
The western sky in rich array. 
Where dallying with departing day 

The coming night combinM. 
The curly clouds of purple hue 
Were broke by glassy fields of blue. 
That seem'd as lakes and rivers clear 
Winding through woody rocks afar, 
IsPd with many a yellow mead 
That only fairy footsteps tread. 
Tread on bloomy flowers unpress'd,^ 
In fields of joy, and realms of rest. 

While wander'd thus the pensive knight. 
There did at Whittington alight 



( 14 ) 

A warrior from his steed; 
With strength of stride and manly port 
He walkM across the castle court. 

And pass'd the porch with speed. 
Nor heeded he or knight or dame. 
But to Fitz-Gwarine^s cliamber came. 
And, doffing there his liilied crest. 
The noble chief he thus addressM. 
" My lord, to Albany I come, 
" And leave for him my distant home, 

" Tho* nought he knows of me; 
''Deputed by his friends afar, 
" His ample ransom here I bear, 

" My name Wrenoc de Lis. 

" But first, my lord, I must entreat 
*' Your favour to a frolic feat, 

"A lady's love to aid;" 
Then, stepping lightly o'er the floo- 
He closed with care the chamber door. 

And thus enquiring, said, 
"You might not know, my noble Chief, 
'*' A lady long has liv'd in grief 



1 



( 15 ) 

" For love of Albany ? 
" Wot ye, my lord, liis secret flame ? 
"Perchance ye know the lady's name?'' 
— The chief replied, " Since here he came 

" Of neither told am I. 
" Tho' I had somewhere heard it said 
"He sorrowed for an absent maid 

" He'd seen in Normandy; 
" (The place I left but yester-year) 
" But gently when I did him jeer, 
" He said he lov'd no lady there, 

" Then sigh'd, and tum'd away." 
Said Wrenoc," 'twas a lady there 
" He lov'd; and now that lady's here, 

" To-day with me she came; 
" But ere to him she will appear 
"She means to prove his love sincere; 
" She waits within the village near, 

"And Marion is her name. 
" Th-^u know'st her noble father well, 
" He does in fair-wall' d Ludlow dwell, 
" Thy neighbour's name scarce need I tell. 



( 16 ) 

''Sir Joos of Normandy; 
'* Yet here she comes in low attire, 
*' Sighing to think how oft her Sire 

" Has fought with Albany. 

" Have ye not markM a chilly breeze, 
" Too feeble far to stir the trees, 

" Just fret the leaves and flow'rs? 
"^o little hopes and fears impart 
'* A flutter to the female heart, 

*' That fall unfelt on ours. 
*' Women have whims and small request's 
** That agitate their tender breasts, 

" Tho' we as trifles eye them; 
'"But when their feelings they divulge, 
-' With looks that ask us to indulge. 

Can any man deny them? 

•' Now J^ariott fain would have you press 
''Sir Albany, with close address, 

" To tell his tender tale; 

And, thus to prove his faith, while I 

Behind the tapestry hard by 

" The listening maid conceal. 



( 17 ) 
*' The tale you^U easily obtain, 
" As lovers like to tell their pain, 

" When friends the story claim; 
" But Marion most of all entreats 
" That you'll avoid, while he relates, 

" To tell or ask her name. 
"A lover's tale with ardour glows 
"While some warm friend attention shews; 
" But if some harmless hint he throws, 

" The lover's heart is such, 
" It proudly shrinks from what it scorns; 
" Like that shy plant, beset with thorns, 

" That shrivels at a touch." 

" Enough," the gallant Chief replied^ 
" Your plan I clearly have descried, 
" And pity 'twere I should prevent 
" A feat so arch and innocent. 
"Til have prepar'd within an hour 
" A chamber in yon eastern tow'r, 
" Where Marion safely may remain 
" Unseen of all the festive train; 
" But you that are not known at all 
" May join us in the concert-hallj, 



{ 18 ) 
" And after that may safely come 
" To supper in the banquet room, 
" Where oft we sit an hour or so 
" To talk of tales of wit or woe» 

" And when the revellers retire 
" Loud summon^ by the sounding quire, 
** While you unto the hall advance 
** To mingle in the merry dance, 
" I'll pace with pensive Albany 
" The gallery of tapestry, 
*' And hear his tender tale reveaPd, 
*' While listening Marion stands conceaJ*d» 

*' The gallery now pass you through, 
'* And back unto the village go : 
" My trusty servant at the gate, 
" Instructed well, shall for you wait, 
" And when the shades of evening lour, 
*' Lead Marion to the eastern tow'r, 
" Jlefreshment and repose to take; 
'* (The window, see, looks o'er the lake) 
"When all is safe you then may come 
" And join us in the concert-room.'^ 



( 19 ) 

The distant moon now raisM her head 
O'er massy clouds high-turreted. 

As back did Wrenoc pass; 
The eastern tow'r receiv'd her beam 
That shewM the window's fluted frame. 
And glinted on the glass. » 

(But ivy now at eve receives 
The moonbeam on its' glossy leaves,) 

And Albany beheld it clear^ 
Returning now the castle near. 
And as it rose the tow'rs between. 
He gaz'd delighted on the scene: 
He heard the distant swell and fall 
Of music from the concert-hall. 
Whence, thro* the branched windows high^ 
The glimmering tapers met his eye. 
A soul had he that joy'd to flow 
To feusic with enraptur'd glow. 
Whether ift bursts and lively strains 
Of crowded harmony she reigns. 
Or plaintive melody she sings 
While notes of sorrow load her wingS;, 



( 20 ) 
Load her wings with tears she stole 
While comforting some sorrow'd soul. 
So, musing, mingles he among 
Of knights and nymphs the hrilliant throng. 

The seats are set. 

The hall is met 
With barons bold and ladies fair; 

With dazzling rays 

The tapers blaze; 
The minstrels and the bards are there. 
In splendid rows around the hall 
The guests are seated near the wall; 
Exalted high the choral throng. 
To strike the string, and send the song. 
And ever anon resounds 
The tuner's dissonance of sounds. 
Writhing and twanging as they stretch 
The shrilly note of pitch to reach; 
And now and then some favorite bar 
Is slightly touchM with careless air; 
Or, dimly heard, some running trill. 
To try the harp or shew the skill 



( 21 ) 

The strings are swept with hasty throw. 
Half lost in busy buzz below. 

Silent at length the chorus sate. 
And for Fitz-Gwarine's coming wait; 
Who entering now the gladtlen'd hall 
Full burst the voices harps and all 
In chorus, from the lofty arch. 
Thus, to " The Men of Harlech's March," 

mt to l^aniionp^ 

(Wo.^h Air harmonized. — Gorhoffedd Gwyr Harlech.) 

Harmony, from Heav'n decended. 
Soaring first when Chaos ended, 
4nd through Time and Space extended. 
Heaven's first decree; 
Pleasure's exultation. 
Sorrow's consolation, 
Thou'rt tue glow 
That Poets know 
From rich imagination. 



( 22 ) 

The very soul itself refining, 
All that's great and good combining, 
God, and man, and angels, joining 
Hail thee. Harmony. 

Music breathes the lover's story, 
Wakes in war the soldier's glory, 
Leads in peace the dance before ye, 
Merry maidens gay; 
Social friends endearing, 
Lonely hermits cheering. 
Winter's gloom, 
And Summer's bloom 
With richest rapture peering; 
O Spirit, thou to man befriending. 
Past the pow'r of thought extending. 
Countless worlds in order blending, 
Heav'nly Harmony. 

Ceas'd the song", the harps are hushM 
Save where the tightening screws adjust 
Some vagrant string the raptur'd bard 
In extacy had struck too hard. 



t 23 ) 

With many an air, and many a song 
Delighted sat the listening throng; 
PleasM the merry notes to mark 
That mockM ''the rising of the Lark,* 
As tho' untimely heM begmi 
To meet ere morn *' the rising Sun.** 
Nor pleasM them less the plaintive strain 
" The Dying Bard of Garreg-wen;** 
And that, the melancholy lay 
Of '' Morva Rhuddlan^s" fatal day. 

Tho' some (I ween of courser soul) 
Untouched by Music's fine controul. 
Or dully dos*d or senselss sat 
Goading the next with idle chat. 

Not such was Albany, whose nature 
Now beam'd confessM in ev'ry feature. 
As oft, in sweet delight entrancM, 
Around his greedy eyes he glanced 
Eager amid the virgin train. 
Looking some kindred glance to gain 
Nor look'd he long nor lookM in vain 
For round the brilliant-taper'd room 
The snowy-vested virgins bloom. 



:l 



wmm 



( 24 } 

Soft, to the song, their bosoms swell. 
And, breathing, ev'ry cadence tell. 

The stranger Wrenoc too was there. 
Of lofty port and brow severe, 
Tho' sooth, a wandering warrior he 
That little car'd for minstrelsoy. 

But who the maid of sable eye 
That blooms yon crimson curtain nigh? 
Is it the curtain^s crimson flush 
That lends her cheek that lovely blush? 
Is it the waxen taper's light 
That lustres in her eye so bright? 
Blushes her bosom's kerchief fair 
To see itself outwhiten'd there ? 
And has some Fairy's magic pow'r 
Her shape with beauties angei'd o'er? 

No — there no borrow'd charms are shewn. 
Thy beauties, Clarice, are thy own. 

Clarice now commands my song, 
Clarice, she unnam'd so long. 



I 



( 25 ) 

The nymph so May and mild. 
Majestic, generous; free adress. 
But female'd all with loveliness. 
Bespeaks the noble maid no less 

Than great Fitz-Gwarine's child. 

The painter that with mimic power 
Affects to ape the opening flower • 

Or limn the luscious fruit. 
When touch'd with all his curious care. 
With nature's self the piece compare. 

Alas! how poor they suit. 
Yet poorer suit my lifeless lays 
To tell of lovely Clarice praise j 

So elegant her form. 
As if Prometheus, old and sly. 
Had touch'd with taper from the sky 
The marble maid of Medici, 

And made it flush and warm. 

But what avail the vermil cheek, 
Or brows that ringlets wreathe; 

Or what the braided tresses sleek. 
And breasts that balmly breathe. 



B 



wmm 



( 26 ) 

Did not each Virtue/ mansion'd there. 

Enkindle bright the whole. 
And fling on evVy feature fair 
The sunbeams of the soul! 
And, Clarice, such a heart was thine 
That brightly bade each virtue shine 
When following far tliy noble sire. 
Who fled a haughty monarch's ire, 
(xVnd, tho* unblemished with blame. 
Was forcM to bear a borrowed name) 
To cheer him with thy filial smile 
O'er Ocean, Continent, and Isle, 
While won and lost, and lost and won 
Was his domain at Whittington. 
And now but doubtfully restored 
He seeks again his household board. 
Still duteous in his train art thou 
Smilinc^ to smoothe his harrass'd brow. • 



*o 



Still symphonied was many a song 
With native music rich and strong. 
Whose melodies so sweet and clear 
We still delighted love to hear; 



( 27 ) . 

For judgment chaste must ever own 

Thy pow'r, Simplicity alone, 

Untrick'd with all the flimsy chime, 

The dearthy din of modern time. 

(Tho' HEf indeed wrought wonders high 

Whose full melodious harmony 

Thro* all the diapson driven 

Seraph'd the Songs of Earth to Heaven.) 

Fitz-G^varine spirited with praise 
The vocal and the lyric lays; 
When thus, while each the praises shar'd. 
Prophetic spoke a British bard. 

** The nation ours, and ours the fire 
'' To sweep the poet\s lofty lyre, 

" And sway the pow'r of song; 
" In after-times shall England shine - 
" With bards to build the living line, 

" Tho* Science yet is young. 
" But ONE* above the rest shall rise 
" Whose magic shall the world surprize, 
*' Shall raise Imagination^^ strain, 
" And memorise a Virgin's reign. 

f Handel. « Shakspeare. 



( 28 ) 
"He shall with strange uncopied art 
" Call up the phantoms of the heart, 
" And rule them with his sole behest 
" In fire to glow, or glide to rest. 
" Nor shall he urge his modest aim 
" To whiffle on the vane of Fame, 
*' But, dying, she his name shall place 
'' Her templets noblest niche to grace. 
*' No bays from Rome or Athens torn 
" His gentle brow shall half-adorn, 
" But British ivy shall entwine 
*' Around his ever-hallow'd shrine. 

" And bards, of no ignoble strain, 
" Shall after him in laurePd train 
" Grace thee in metre's ev'ry stile, 
" Thee, Britain, Ocean's monarch-isle, 
** Thee, Ampliitrite's brightest gem, 
" 'Twill honour thee to honour them." 

The prophet's rapture fir'd the throng. 
And plaudits rung the room along. 
Meanwhile a signal was declar'd 
Of viands daintily prepared; 



( 29 ) 

And summonM were the moving train 
To join the festive board again. 
Fitz-Gwarine led the courtly crowd. 
While bards and minstrels chorussM loud 
To all and each the sweet delight 
Of mirth and peace '^ the live-long night.''' 
And pity ^twere so fair a throng 
Had left unpraisM the sons of song. 
Oh! pity had they not decreed 
The real poet's humble meed 

O ye, who kindly have so long 
Indulging markM my early song. 
Oh! had I, what I cannot claim. 
One particle of poet's flame. 
With that, thro' life whatever my fare, 
Fd warm the chilly heart of care; 
For neither gold nor pow 'r Fd pray, 
Tho* poor my purse, the* small my sway; 
Whatever my toil, v^lrate'er my task. 
One ivy-bud is all Vdi ask. 
Where I; poor May-fly, couch'd may hide 
From spiteful spiders, many-eyed; 



( 30 ) 

And that one leaf might spread at last 
To screen me from the biting blast. 

With chearfal hum I yet would sing. 
And sun it with my summer wing. 



The youthful minstrel pausM; for here 
A harp symphonious met his ear; 
Unpeer'd Louisa^s graceful hand 
Ran o^er the strings with soft command; 
Her lovely fingers smoothly raised 
The native notes he just had praisM. 
The guests admire the silver sound. 
While fruits and wines are handed round. 

Then as they walk 

Of tales they talk 
With something of a poeVs pleasure; 

Some reprehend. 

And some commend 
The various-metred measure. 



( 31 ) 

Some praisM the Genius of their age 
In Him who sung the Goblin-Page; 
And her of Branksome, fair and sage. 

And some with pleasure spake 
Of him, who. Palmer-like array M, 
The tyrant scarM who mured the maid. 
Tho' some the meed of merit paid 

To Ellen of the Lake. 
Some praised the master's hand, who framM 
The wondrous rhymeless measure, iiamM 

Of Thaiaba the lay. 
While others namM with more delight 
The maid who metred Falkirk fight. 

And harded Her with bay. 

But now Louisa's lyre again 

For silence calls in lofty strain. 

The guests take off the goblets' blush; 

And once again the hall is hush. 

When no mean bard (whom now to name 

Might bring on fav'ring friendship blame) 

Kindled the youthful minstrel's zeal. 

And bade him now resume his tale. . 



■■■i^ 



{ 32 ) 

Refresh'd^ his harp the stripling strung. 
Encouraged, thus again he sung. 
But first a fitful flourish flung. 



i 



jFtt^(^arine, 



A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER, 



IN THREE CANTOS. 



CANTO IT. 



ffify<B\x}wcm. 



CANTO II. 



Oh, Whittingtoii, among thy tow*rs 

Pleas'd did my early childhood stray, 
BaskM on thy walls in sunny hours. 
And pulPd thy moss, and plupkM thy flowers. 

Full many a truant day. 
And *mid thy weed-bewilder'd ways 
I've thought on Giants, Hags, and Fays, 
Or ought tiiai in those elfish days 



( 36 ) 

My eager eye had read; 
And hying home at ev'ning tide, 
Scar'd if the circling bat I spied, 
V\e passM in haste thy portals wide 

With no unpleasing dread. 
And oft I*ve stood in mute amnze, 
With fearful inquest fond to gaze. 
When lab'rours 'mid the stones 
Deep in the mortar-mingled ground 
Huge gyves, and iion fetters found. 

And canker- crusted bones. 
Tho' oft were found, of antique mold 
Quaint bottles, burnished as with gold; 

Branched antlers of the deer; 
And fragments bossM that bowls had been; 
With reliques more, yet shewn, I ween^ 

Within the mansion here. 
And much Pve mus'd with strange delight 
On him, the faintly-figur'd knight 
On fiery steed, Fitz-Gwarine hight, 

BerhymM with rustic verse; 
But never did I dare to dream, 
Tho* mad to sip the Avonian stream,. 



( 37 ) 

That I this lawless lay should frame. 

His prowess to rehearse : 
And fault^ring fear would still prevail 
Half-told to leave my tedious tale. 
Did not your partial praise inspire 
And rouse again my lingering lyre. 

The wassailers awhile ago 
Broke up the pasty of the doe; 
And now with revel rung the board. 
With luscious wines and fruitage stor'd; 
The supper's gone, the goblets crownMr 
And jest and jollity go round. 
While each to each his talk addressing. 
With finger and with look expressing, 
The converse of convivial crowd 
Chaos'd in voices low and loud. 

Yet ceased awhile the noisy cheer 
A youthful sailor's song to hear. 



( 38 ) 

( Welsh- Air.— MercA Megan,) 

The daughter of Megan so lovely and blooming 

I met in Glanavon's gay glittering hall, 
And high rose my heart, ambition assuming 

To dance with the damsel, the bloom of the ball. 
O daughter of Megan, look not so alluring 

On a youth that his hope with thy hand must resign. 
That now the sad pang of Despair is enduring. 

For the splendour thou lov'st can never be mine. 

Go, daughter Megan, to circles of splendour, 

Each eye that beholds thee thy presence shall bless. 
And the delicate mind feel a passion more tender 

On thy beauties to gaze than another's possess. 
But, daughter of Megan, to-morrow Tm going 

On ocean to sail where the rude billows roar, 
And I feel my full heart with affliction overflowing, 

For perhaps I may gaze on thy beauties no more. 



( 39 ) 

. The chair supreme Fitz-Gwariiie graced. 

The stranger Wrenoc near him plac'd. 

With whom he joinM in converse, long 

UnmarkM of all the noisy throng. 

" But how/* said he, (and turn\i his breast. 

Leaning toward the stranger-guest) 

" But how could he his royal boon 

" His plighted faith forget so soon^^? 

Quoth Wrenoc, " nought can I reply, 

** A stranger in his court am I; 

" But would you ought in brief recite, 

** Attention shall your task requite.^' 

Proceeded then Fitz-Gwarine^s tale, 

Tho^ high the hubbub^s voicy gale. 

But when attention once begun 

They hush'd to hear him one by one. 

" I, need not tell the man who^s trode 
" Of courts the smooth and icy road, 
" That falsehood makes her chief abode 

" With those mis-call'd the great; 
" But little thinks the untutorM youth, 
^* Taught by the cottage-tale of truth. 



TKWTOPi 



( 40 ) 

" Their titles, honours, pomp forsooth, 

" All, all a glistening cheat. 
" The titled virtues they assume, 
'' Like flowery trophies on a tomb, 
" Unless the real virtues live, 
** Do but a sad memento give, 
" That he who got them, good or brave, 
'' Bore them to blossom on his grave, 
" While feeble upstarts catch the name, 
'* And glimmer with the fatuous flame. 

" Your king e'er lookM with jealous eyft' 

" On me, the court of Wales so nigh, 

" Our families by ring allied, 

" He fears me on this border side; 

" Nor is he also unadvisM 

" How much my friendship should be priz'd. 

*' Our treaty's therefore like the time 

** Of March's age and April's prime, 

" Each to the other lending 
" A sunny smile, not over warm, 
" A gust, the whisper of a storm, 

" Each with the other blending. 



( 41 ) 
" Enough to name our last affray. 
" The prince, his temper lost at play, 
'' The ches-board swun^ with cowtird sway, 

" And hurlM my head upon: 
" 111 could the wrong my hosom brook; 
" I sent him first a furious look, 
" Then firm with knuckles clench'd, I strook 

" The pate of royal John. 
o 

" The gathering storm soon did I see, 
" England was then no place for me, 
*' Outlawed myself, my castle seizM, 
" Gold my rebellious head-price blaz'd, 
" Yet did no British bosom know 
" Where I retired, or friend or foe. 
" Poor Clarice on that troublous night 
*' Was sole partaker of my flight; 
*' BellowM the blast, the surges roar'd, 
*' As tho^ a murd'rer were on board. 

*' In Normandy I did commend 
*' My daughter to an abbess-friend, 
*' With whom in convent to remain 
" *Till I my castle miglit regain. 



BBi 



( 42 ) 
" To Lewis' court, a wandering kuigfct 
" Disguis'd I went. Sir Amice higlit. 
" Nor lackM the lists wherewith to own 
" My title to a knight's renown. 
'* The courtly king my prowess prais'd, 
" And high to honours would have rais'd; 
*' A Barony I did reject, 
" Yet grateful bow'd with deep respect; 
" And well I did, for soon by name 
'' Did England's king his rebel claim; 
" With me description did accord, 
** Sir Amice prov'd the rebel lord. 
" Me Lewis offering to protect, 
" I did his tender'd love reject; 
" For well I wot how small a seed 
** ^Twixt king and king will burst and breed, 
** And through each nation's fields afar 
** Enroot the lurid weed of war. 

** Then long I trode the trackless woods, 
" I drank of Don and Danube's floods, 

" At tilts my prowess proving; 
"I pac'd with hoof and plow'd with helm 
" The sandy and the salty realm. 



( 43 ) 

" Pursuance kept me moving". 
" But as the binnacle^s bright bar 
" When driven from it's home afar 

"Will agitated veer, 
" Still trembling as it wavers round, 
" True to it^s native north 'tis found, 

*' And always settles there. 
" So homeward still- my bosom turnM, 
*' The foreign feats of strangers earnM, 

" I held of small account; 
" A British friend fell in my way, 
" A jolly captain he by sea, 

" Hight Madour of the Mount. 
" One morn as we in chanhel lay, 
" Loitering I markM the playful spray 

" Back on the big wave washing, 
" And listening to the trickling tide 
" That rippled on the vessel's side 

*' Green with the billows dashing, 
*' I kent among the sailor crew 
" A knight disguised that well I knew, 

" And well his purpose guess'd: 



■■■ 



( 44 ) 

" With sinewy oar, fatigued and wet, 
*' On board I saw that ev^iing set 
" Far in the wavy west. 

" Yet do not deem thro' fear I fled, 
" I might have laid the lurcher dead, 

" But proudly did disdain, 
" His king less fearing to offend 
" Than stain the vessel of my friend, 

" And so my honour stain. 
** The sail that now I gained, erewhile 
" Gave up her gale to Orkney's isle; 
" Where learning that a prison'd maid 
*' Needed a knight her cause to aid, 
" I deeds of arms again begun, 
" And many a warrior's trophy won, 
" There won 'mid armour's clanking peal 
'' My famous hauberk of hard steel. 

*' I did the damsel now release, * 

*' Judge of her joy, ray wonder wild; 

" She felt a father's fond embrace, 
** Oh it was Clarice, 'twas my child! 



1 



( 45 ) 

" Borne from the Norman convenes bowers 
" She captive came to Orkney's towers. 
*' A knight (she said) of honour high 
** Look'd for her love with amorous eye. 
" And oft with faulVring tongue had tried 
'' To. ask her for his honourM bride; 
" But secret sighed the silent maid, 
"•' To tell her father's fate afraid, 
*' Yet willing (did my stars relent) 
" To grace her own with my consent. 
" They walkM each eve the convent grove 
" Scarce conscious of encreasing love. 
" One day before her knight arrived 
*' The British Monarch's spies contrived 
" Poor Clarice from the grove to tear 
'* And captive off to Orkney bear. 

" By tempests toss'd the seas we cross'd, 
" Thro' Calpe's straits to Carthage coast, 

" And bore the brunt of war and weather; 
" Yet did we find that fate grew kind 

'^ For oh — we were together. 
" Thro' northern cold and southern heat 
" She taught my heart to smile on fate. 



( 46 ) 
" Landing at length on Albion's isle, 
" But secret and disguis'd the while, 
*' Of changeless friends a firm defile 

" That all to aid us chose, 
" Met us that mighty White Cliff nigh, 
" That raising abrupt it's head on high, 
*' Seems bidding, as it seeks the sky, 

" Defiance to it's^ foes. 

" For woodman's garb I changed my cloak, 
" In Windsor's woods of ancient oak 

"We found a safe retreat; 
" The king I knew there chac'd the deer, 
" And with my faithful comrades there 

" I conned a cunning feat. 
" One day the king alone appear'd, 
'' When scarce the distant horn was heard 

*' Our hiding-place hard by; 
" And as across my way he came, 
" Know'st thou (quoth he) of any game? 

*' Aye — game enough (quoth I) 
*' Ride to yon briery dingle rough 
"Trust me, I'll rouse ye game enough. 



( 47 ) 

" My bugle then I sounded; 
" My comrades heard the blast I blevr, 
'* Obey'd the signal that they knew, 

*' And soon the king surrounded. 

" Cow'd was the king with speechless fear, 

" Yet stammerM out, who have we here? 

" I flung the bonnet from my brow, 

" Know'st thou, (quoth I,) Fitz-Gwarine now? 

" I took a sword and o'er him swung it, 

*' Then at his feet contemptuous flung it, 

'' And turning to my comrade class, 

" Open, (I cried,) and let him pass. 

" Now go. Sir King, in freedom go 

" And copy courage from a foe. 



" I'll grant (he cried) a pardon free, 
" Fitz-Gwarine, unto thine and thee, 
*' And ril restore to thee anon 
" Thy franchise fair of Whittington, 
" Wilt thou again in homage bend, 
'^ And be my subject and my friend; 



■■i 



( 48 ) 

*' And here I plight my royal faith 
*' Thy forfeiture free pardon hath. 

" Then, taught by me, the rebel ring 
" BowM, and we ownM him for our king. 

" But homeward ere we scarce had gone, 
" Scarce merry made at Whittington, 

" SurprizM we heard it said 
'* That thrice five knights the king had sent 
" Who soon to make me captive meant, 

" And Albany their head. ' 
" The noblest foe I ever fought 
" Is Albany; and him we sought 

'* As he came from Ludlow's towers; 
"And where in Vyrnwy's yellow vaJe 
" Whitens the willow to the gale 

" When the south chill blackening lours 
" We met; and our coursers with galloping tread 

** Crush'd the tall buttercups down, 
" And the blood that we shed streakM the orchis red 

" With a ruddier dye than its own. 

" But Albany, my foe profess'd, 
" Did fearless far before the rest 






( 49 ) 

" The depth of danger stem; 
^' But, thank my friends, I brought him here 
" To taste my castle's choicest cheer, 

*^ And make him one of them. 
" Since when the faithless monarch shews 
*' An outward offer of repose, 

" Yet still I stand prepar'd; 
" For when my foes their whirlwinds cast, 
" I disregard the blustering blast, 

" But when they're calm I guard. 
" The silent water-drops alone 
" Deeper decay yon turret stonfe, 

" Than delug'd storms that daskh, 
" Harmless the thunder's thumping jarr 
" That rocks the earth and rends the air> 

" But fatal is the flash. 



" Me Raumpayne John too, bids beware; 
" A Minstrel he, and Soothsayer, 
" To him I did a dream declare; 
*' I shudder now to know it. 



( 50 ) 

^^ Methought I viewed with fond delight, 
'* Winter's chaste flow'r of green and -white, 
*' When Hwixt the leaves just met my sight 

'' A turgid toad below it; 
*^ Sharply miethought I then could see 
" It's jewePd eye-ball dart on me; 
" That moment passM a honied bee, 

" That to the snowdrop came ; 
•^^ The biggening reptile rued his stroke, 
" And bloating burst with hideous croak; 
*^ I started shockM, and shivering 'woke, 

" — 7* ^^Twas morning's earliest beam. 



" Then tell your king, in me he'll know 

" The firmest friend, or fiercest foe. — 

" The dastard ! when our rebel crowd 

" In Windsor's wood his subjects bow'd, 

*' We meant, 'fore Heav'n! (so did not he) 

" Honour and true fidelity. 

" But he beware! — his realm around 
'' We Baronfi yet are brothers bound, 

** Since that Great Deed, for which with fame 

** Posterity shall bless our name. 



( 51 ) 

" And still each other's cause weUl aid. 

" Has he forgotten Runnemede? 

" My temper's hot^ my anger loud, 
" Like rolling rack of stormy cloud, 
" In souls, that should be great, to scan 
" Meanness, that misbecomes a man. 
" But where I find true Honour sway, 
" Not milder is th» breath ©f May/' 

Here ceas'd the Chief. Th^ admiring crowd 
Applauded ^till th« board rang loud. 
While Great Fitz-Gwarine graceful bow'd. 

" Dwell ye on dreams," Wrenoc replied 
*' Old women's idlings I deride, 
*' Or much indeed I might be mov^d 
" By one that yesternight I prov'd. 
*' I'll tell ye all I wot, nor care 
'* For Raumpayne John, your jocular, 
" What it may bode I nothing heed 
" Wist ye I reck such idle rede? 
" Tho*, by St. George, as I'm a knight, 
** Waking, it chill'd me with affright. 



\ 



( 52 ) 
"But with the morning^s rising ray 
" The swallows twitter'd it away. 



mxtmvs Dream* 

/ loas laid at the feet of a Virgin in white, 

And methought all of heavenly hue, 
For I saw by the soles of her sandals so light, 
That were lac'd round her ancles so taper and tight. 
That she trode not the dust or the deiv» 

Regard me. Sir Wrenoc, regard me (she said) 

And regard the tohite rose that I hear. 
For a talisman's virtue around it is shed 
To bless with delight both the board and the bed 
Of him that regards it with care. 

But a sable magician, before it is thine. 

Must a mystical office perform, 
Must a magical circle around it entwine, 
Must adjure thee Jo swear by his Spirit and mine, 

To preserve it in sunshine and storm. 



( 53 ) 

The rose it blushed lovely as greedy I gaz'd. 

And I snatched it with eager delight. 
But I found 'twas a hlossomless briar I seiz'd. 
And, as vanished the Virgin, I shudder'd amaz'd 
At a hellishly horrible Sprite, 

Entangled in terrors, I laboured to fly. 
But my path was all dizzy and dim; 
And glancing aside ever glared to my eye 
The gaunt apparition with chattering cry 
Of Jaws that were lipless and grim. 

On, on. Thou J)eceiver, on, on, be thou borne 

The rack of Repentance upon. 
By phantoms and furies thy brain shall be torn. 
Mine, mine is the blossom, but thine is the thorn. 

On, on, thou Deceiver! on, on! 

9- * 

Then? swept the grey spirits around me in crowds, 
W^ And the dismal wind whistled forlorn; 
At midnight we saiVd on the dark heavy clouds. 
The spectres still mutt' ring , as fluttered their shrouds, 
Deceiver! on, on ivith thy thorn! 



\ 



( 54 ) 

The rugged clouds parting uncurtain'd the night. 

And the moon for a moment was seen ; 
Oti a white rock that pass'd us just glinted her lights 
Where my own shadoic seem'd like a skeleton sprite. 
And my ribs shewed the moonshine between. 

We passed o*er a river, dull, sluggish, and drear; 

I looked down it's smooth surface upon. 
But oh! the reflection that star'd at me there! 
A frightful grey skeleton's chattering sneer 

Seemed to say, thou Deceiver! on, on! 

Then down the dark eddy a blossom was borne. 

And a white hand emerged from the wave; 
As they sunk, I could hear from the waters forlorn. 
Mine, mine is the blossom, but thine is the thorn. 
Deceiver! on, on, to the grave! 

Then, on, on, thou Deceiver! on, on, was the howl. 
As they sheiv'd me, with muttering tone, 

A corpse all uncoffin^d, all bloody and foul; 

I shivered, for oh, as it grinned with a scowi, 
I fancied the face was my own. 



'' 



( 55 ) 

O then did a scream that loud yelVd in mine ear 
. With a groan full of horror combine 
To awake me all chilly, and palsied with fear; — 
— But the scream was the cry of the shrill chanticleer, 
And the groan was the low of the kine. 

Yet ev'n when awake, and beholding the day, 

'Twas long ere my terror was gone; 
For I fancied the geese, in the cot where I lay, 
With their cackling and hissing ev'n still seem'd to say 
On, on, thou Deceiver! on, on. 

When Wrenoc ceasM Hwas silence all. 
They heard the taper^s icle fall; 
Nor carM the guests remarks to make. 
But rising as their wine they take. 
Half lost half heard their voices ran 
As they to leave the hall began; 
To join the dance they soon were gone. 
In parties some, and some alone. 

Yet one, of more attentive mien. 
Low at the board was seen to lean; 



( 56 ) 

While Wrenoc spoke, he glancM awry, 
And seldom twinkM his listening eye. 
But markM the dream with thoughtful look; 
Then off his cup^s deep remnant took. 
And rose, when Wrenoc^s dream was done. 
To leave the room. — ^Twas Raumpayne John 

And as he opM the door, the air 

Just made the tapers near it flare. 

And just was heard, in distance drown' d. 

The fitful harp's uncertain sound. 

A moment heard, and heard no more, 

For all was still when closM the door. 

A vacant silence now ensued. 
And both awhile unheeding viewM 
The lights that shot with lengthening flame> 
Or melting dropp'd in trickling stream. 
Around the table many a chair 
Left carelessly stood here and there j 
The goblets, in uneven line. 
Left empty some, and some with wine; 
Wet circles glisten'd round the board. 
Or streaks of wine some guest bad scor'^ 



fl 



( 57 ) 

Perchance as some design he wrought. 
Or eke perchance for want of thought. 

" Come, take thy wine'^ (Fitz-Gwarine sai^. 
As he to Wrenoc turnM his head) 
" Strange fears across my fancy came 
" Hearing thy wild bewildei*^d dream; 
" Come, drink, we^ll join the dance anon; 
" I did not see my guests were gone." 

'' Strange fears ?'^ (then Wrenoc starting said^ 
" What fears can bold Fitz-Gwarine dread? 
" What fears across thy fancy came? 
" Did — did 1 tell thee all my dream?" 

" Or all," (Fitz-Gwarine cried) " or none^ 
*' I saw ^twas markM by Raumpayhe John* 
" For as his ear thy accents caught 
" His looks embodied all his thought. 
'' And in thy dream he seem'd to see 
•' Some warning that awaited thee; 
" For thee, my guest, the fears I felt, 
" Lest o^er thy head some danger dwelt. 
" And as I mark'd his long-lash'd eye 
** My bosom beat, I knew not why." 



( 58 ) 
(Quoth Wrenoc) ''troth, this searching -win* 
" Has warm'd thy head as well as mine; 
" I do forget what I have said, 
" BewilderM wanderings fill'd my head; 
" Cans' t thou regard such idle toys? 
" Bugbears to frighten girls and boysl 

" But come, we'll to the busy dance, 

*' And mark each maiden's ogling glance, 

" As lightly by they foot it fair, 

*' And waft around the od'rous air. 

" But oh. Sir Chief, could I advance 

" The lovely Marion to the dance! 

" The blossom she of hall or bower, 

'* Now clos'd in yonder eastern tower; 

" While sighs her absent Albany 

" For her he deems in Normandy. 

" Absence to love is like the shower, 

*' That dims the sun, and dews the flower. 

*' Then oh. Sir Chief, could'st thou prevail 
" On him to-night to tell his tale, 
*' I have the gentle Marion bid 
*^ Tp stand behind the arras hid. 



( 59 ) 

^' 'Twill soon be o'er if once beg-un. 

'' 1 would the stratagem were done." 

Smiling, Fitz-Gwarine answer'd quick 

*' I had forgot fair Marion's trick. 

" I like for her thy service shewn 

'^ Anxious, as if it were thy own. 

" I'll seek Sir Albany; go thou 

*' And join the merry-makers now. 

" I'll catch this heart-shot warrior soon, 

*' Hiding his shadow from the moon." 

(Quoth Wrenoc) " in the tender theme 

'' Take care yon ask not Marion's name, 

" And as ye talk, your steps incline 

" Near where the parted hangings join, 

" Where Oak and Roses are combin'd, 

*' 'Tis there that Marion stands behind. 

*' Now part we, thou the knight to bring;, 
" And I to join the revel ring, 
*' Where I shall look for you anon, 
" With Albany and Marion." 

The lessen'd moon was mounted high. 
And seem'd to hurry o'er the sky. 



I ( 60 ) 

As fleecy cloiids were passing by. 
Light scudding on the blast; 

j The little stars were gone and seen. 

Peeping the parted clouds between. 
And many a moonbeam o^er the scene 

A fitful lustre cast; 
But in the distant woods afar 
Was heard the long and lasting jarr 
That told the wind was rising there. 



With sounding step of eager haste 
Fitz-Gwarine o'er each draw-bridge pass'd 

Across the ditches deep; 
Dimly the ramparts round he eyed. 
And soon Sir Albany espied. 
With Raumpayne John close at his side. 

Descending from the Keep. 



Ye know the Keep, my hearers fair. 
The grainger's garden now is there. 
And plaister'd beehives, thatchM with car% 



( 61 ) 

Where pinks and pansies grow; 
Yet still beneath the garden ground. 
The pavement to the spade will sound. 

That penetrates too low. 
And now where oft was seen on high 
The banner, streaming to the sky. 

Or blazM the beacon bright. 
The woodbine in a crevice clings. 
And low it's dangling tracery flings 

In tresses long and light. 

As tho' to kiss the sister-wreath 
Reflected in the lake beneath. 

So frowns upon the buskin'd stage 
Awhile, the ruthless Richard'^ rage. 
And clanks the sword and shield; 
Then skip the light-sockM lasses gay. 
In flowery bloom all fresh as May, 
And frisk on Bosworth field. 

But back, my Muse, back to thy song. 
Thou art toe^ frolic: but thou^rt young. 



( 62 ) 

Fitz-Gwarine saw them both descend. 
Conversing close as friend with friendj 
But as he bent to hear their tale 
The distant harps swelPd on the gale. 
And from the hall by fits were sent 
The sounds of dance and merriment. 
Yet nearer as they darkling came 
He thought they mentioned Wrenoc's name; 
But as he caught the doubtful word 
A gust the rustling poplars stirr'd. 
And as it died upon the spray 
They parted each a several way; 
The circle gay sought Raumpayue John> 
But Albany came forward on. 
Where with his host Fitz-Gwarine meeting, 
He spoke him thus with friendly greeting. 



" Sir Chief, O courteous thou, and kind, 
*' Struggles thy heart with ravePd care? 

*' Or why's yon brilliant room resigned 
*' For moonlight pale and humid air?" 



( 63 ) 
(Fitz-Gwarine then) " Sir kiiight, I come 

'' Thy steps to seek, thy cares to endj 
" Can I enjoy yon brilliant room 

" While sorrows thus my noble friend? 
•' Much have I mourn'd to see thee stray, 

" Leaving my guests and festive cheer; 
" But soon will shine thy happier day, ' 

" Ev^n now thy dawn of joy is near. 
*' But see, the moon looks watery' dim, 

" And drizzly dews begin to fall; 
" Let^s walk my gallery dry and trim, 

" I'll hear thy tale and tell thee all. 
*' Thy promisM tale there let me know, 

" Fm now at leisure and alone; 
" Then the bright ray that ends thy woe 

" That Vve discovert shall be shewn.'* 

With fault'ring step, and sudden start. 
As loud he heard his beating heart, 
" Discovered!" thought Sir Albany, 
" DiscoverM ! — no it cannot he." 
Then damp his chilly forehead knew 
Damp other than the falling dew; 



( 64 ) 
Nor was that long and inward sigh 
The passing gust that eddied by. 
Then said he, as with blushing thought 
Fitz-Gwarine*s friendly hand he caught, 
*' Sir Chief, I know thy noble heart, 
" And will my bosom's wound impart, 
*' Altho^ too certain do I see 
*•' I cannot hope for cure from thee; 
" But gladly in obedience due 
" ril tell thee much and tell thee true; 
'' But do not, do not probe too deep, 
*' Her name at least, oh ! let me keep; 
*• For well thou know'st her noble sire 
" ^Gainst whom V\e rais'd my sword in ire," 
" Nay ev'n his rery life have sought, 
" But Hwas to serve my king I fought. 
" Then spare the heart a word may wound, 
** Stir not the thorns that twine it round." 

Gloomy the gallery appear'd 
As high it's branchy arches rear'd. 
And dull the moon, as tho' she fear'd 
Within to trust her light; 



( 65 ) 

And triple-chainM a cresset swung. 
That scarce it's lonesome lustre flung 
To> where the figurM arras hung, 

Tho* triple-trimm'd and bright. 
Fitz-Gwarine gaz'd around, to find 
The Roses with the Oak combinM, 
Where close the parted hangings join'd 

Nor gaz'd he long in vain; 
Then arm in arm they silent passM, 
While rose at times the whistling blast 
That rough against the windows dash'd 

The sharp and pattering rain. 

But, gentle hearers, oh, too long 

I fear you deem my lengthened song; 

And here I fain meet pause would ask 

To renovate my tedious task; 

My harp ('till now but us'd to play 

The little song, the merry lay) 

Can ill the lofty tone retain 

Demanded in the border strain. 

For as my hand the flourish flings 

Feeble, I feel tha slackened strings.. 



( 66 ) 

Unlike the harps you've heard of late 
Whose fire and tension ne*er ahate. 
But waft the song in rapture thrown 
With rich and undulating tone. 
While Fancy feels her hosom hound. 
And Genius rides upon the sound. 



Again (the tightenM tone supplied) 
His harp the youthful minstrel tried. 
And swept shortwhile the strings alon|| 
Preparing for th* approaching song. 
But, ere he did his tale renew. 
He thus a little prelude threw. 



A BALLAD OF THE WELSH BORDER, 



IN THREE CANTOS. 



CANT© III. 



I 



II 



CANTO III. 

Spirit of Song, oh ! at thy feet 

Imparadis'd the poet lies 
To court thy countless beauties sweety 

And watch the wildfire of thine eyes. 
How mean to him the gilded toys. 

The baubles that Ambition brings; 
He'd closer hug thy bosom joys 

Tho* callM to grace the courts of kings. 
The spoils that Wealth assiduous yields. 

The rustling robe, the titled gear. 
He leaves, to reap thy richer fields. 

And drink thy sweets with eager ear. 
And as he marks each glowing glance 

That from thy radiant eyes are thrown. 
Bounds his big heart in trembling trance. 

And lights the lustre in his own. 



( 70 ) 
Ev*n I (alas, no gifted bard) 

With flowing heart thy haunts approach; 
And if at times my hand has darM 

To wake thy harp with timid touch. 
In sooth forgive the sounds so dull. 

The infant hand in sooth forgive^ 
The very flow'rs it loves to cull 

Their memory shall long outlive. 



Not wavers more the trembling shad^ 

That by the silken beech is made 

As May's delightful zephyr waves 

In playful sport its lucid leaves; 

Than every thought the lover knows 

When Memory the embers blows. 

And bids the glowing warmth arise 

That buried in his bosom lies. 

Awhile to sparkle in his eyes; 

And quick thro* gleam and gloom to run. 

Like chequer'd leaves in shade and sun. 

Such feeling Albany confess'd 
As thus Fitz-Gwarine he address 'd. 



( " ) 

*' No titled ancestry I boast, 
*' All in Time's upper current lost; 
" Hard-handed men my fathers were 
" Inur'd to guide the brightenM share. 
*' They ran their course in lowly lot, 
" Just streakM the stream, and were forgot. 

*' Yet had their shields in 'scutcheon'd pride 
" Each rich heraldric blazon dyed, 
** On me less vantage had they shed 
*' Than did my father's honoured head. 

" My hoary sire me early taught 
'* What substance was, and shadow what; 
*' That honour flows from noble race 
" No more than shame from sire's disgrace; 
*' That oaks may rise erect and free 
" From acorns of an humble tree; 
" That honour he alone acquires 
** Who after it himself aspires ; 
" That the best gift from sire to son 
" Is heav'niy Education, 
" She, the chaste nymph, so free and fair, 
" Will prompt to deeds, that, rich and rare, 
*' Shall with more glory grace his grave, 
*' Than paltry 'scutcheons ever gave. 



( 72 ) 

'* And bear his honours to that shore 
** Where toys and titles are no more. 

*' This sword. Sir Chief, that now I bear, 

" But ill becomes my peaceful thigh j 
" For, tho' this tassePd garb I wear, 

" No plume-proud warrior am I. 
*' Year after year I peaceful stray'd, 

" To Art betrothed, to Nature more, 
" Where, faithful to her Alfred's shade, 

" Fair Isis sweeps the classic shore. 
*' And only once has Autumn strew'd 

" With drifted leaves her lofty bowers, 
*' And once has Spring those leaves renew'd 

** Since last I left her sacred towers. 
" Her towers I left with silent sigh, 

** As parting from a parent's arms; 
*' For ah, no parents then had I 

" Save Heav'n, and Oxford's heavenly charms. 
** But her, I say, I then forsook 

" To ramble Gallia's bosky bourne; 
** Of Nature's wide un-errour'd book 

" Eager each living leaf to turn. 



( 73 ) 
** Travel in early youth I sought, 

" Long ere my noon of life was come; 
** That noon and eve with joy, I thought, 

" Might gild my little native home. 

" For he (unless in early time) 

" That ramhling leaves his native clirae, 

" Is not unlike the sapling tree 

" Rooting, where Nature dropM it, freig, 

" Transplanted from iVs native place 

*' Some dry and barren spot to grace, 

'* Stinted it hears nor flow'r nor fruit, 

^' In spite of fondly- watered root, 

** But pines, with toughen'd bark tight bound, 

^ And scurfy lichens moss it round, 

** So he that leaves his long-lovM home, 
'* Too soon, too late, may find 

-" Go where he will, that cares will com©, 
— '' The lichens of the mind. 

** As for court-favours, thought have I 
*» When in the woods reclin'd, my eye 



( 74 ) 

" WatchM the wan leaf the zephyr whirls- 
" That, cobweb-caught, light spinning twirls, 
" Court-favours! — hang they not, I wis, 
" Ev'u on a brittler thread than this ! 



'' But oh, in some sweet vale unknown 
" A cot that I might call my own 

" Was all my hearths desire; 
" A stock select of lettered lore, 
" An eye to glance all Nature o'er, 

" And leisure for the lyre. 
" And as for Love, I deemM his dart 
" Just temper'd by the poet's art, 

" Could there alone prevail : 
" But (O, forgive a soldier's sigh) 
" Too soon a black and brilliant eye 

" Taught me another tale. 
" It taught me that the poet's eye 
*' But only tinged with prismy dye 

" The woof that Nature wove; 
*' Taught me how hard it was to tear, 
" Tho' fine as filmy gossamer, 

** The woven web of Love. 



1 



( 75 ) 

" It taught me why in vale unknown 
" A cot that I might call my own 

*' Was all my heart's desire, 
♦' With stock select of letter'd lore, 
" And eye to glance all Nature o'er, 

" With leisure for the lyre. 

" O Woman ! not confin'd thy pow'r 
" To sweeten life's embitter'd hour, 
" But needed, O enchantress sweet, 
" To make it's very joys complete ! 
" Who feels not when a woman's by 
" That approbation of her eye 
*' Gives added azure to the sky; 

" Warmth to the poet's fire; 
*' Beauty to each little flow'r; 
" Richness to the letter'd hour; 

" And sweetness to the lyre ! 
" Who feel not this, tho' high their lot, 
" Their pow'r, their wealth, I envy not; 
" Who feel not this, may pleasure prove, 
'' But cannot, dare not, say they love. 



( 76 ) 

" Pardon a lover's rambling vein, 
" V\\ try to check my busy brain; 
*' Enough to say I met the maid, 
** And oft we sought the moonlight glade ; 
** But the succeeding moon that shone 
" My wand'ring shadow shewM alone. 

*' Of her, of heart, of hope bereft, 
*' Not ev'n her very name was left, 
" For always, obstinately shy, 
** She did her name and house deny. 

" Then sad and heart-sick home I hied, 
f* And to my former haunts applied;. 
" But there no object could I find 
" But brought the lovely maid to mind. 
^' In Music's note her voice I heard, 
" Her blush in the wild-rose appear'd, 
" The balmy breeze, the od'rous air, 
" The hall, the bow'r was full of her; 
" My lyre, like his the Teian bard^^ 
*' Did ev'ry theme but love discard. 
*' And, to encrease my fever's rage, 
** 1 drank at Ovid's amorous page. 



1 



( 77 ) 
" Thus ever haunted by the miad, 
" I flung me fiom the thoughtful shade, 
" Sought the gay scene, the bright resort 
" Of city crowd, and royal court. 
" Where learning that the king had need 
" Of knights at arms for hostile deed, 
*' I threw aside the classic gown, 
*' In chivalry to gain renown, 
" And prove that sons of British line 
" In arms, as well as arts may shine. 
" Hoping the deeds of arms I prov'd 
" Might reach the ear of her I lov'd, 
" And soon they did, for oh! unknown 
*' Against her sire those deeds were shewn. 
" ^Twas then with fatal fear and shame 
" I learn'd her honoured house and name; 
" A British Baron's daughter she, 
" And oh, her sire well known to thee. 
'^ This late I learn'd (no matter how) 
" But cannot, dare not, tell it now, 

*< For— 

what was that? — =hush— - 

blood and death!" 

*' Did you not hear some one's bxeath?'' 



( 78 ) 
Fitz-Gwarine thought he heard a sigh 
As close they pass'd the arras nigh; 
But louder treading, quick replied — 
" Breath ! — no, it was myself that sighM, 
*' Sigh'd, anxious for your laden breast; 
'* But come, my friend, come tell the rest> 
" For, if I am her father's friend, 
'' Your enmity I soon may end." 

'' Quoth Albany,'^ Chief belov'd, 
" My arm against his life hath movM, 
*' Which makes us smother close our iir#> 
" In fear of her oiFended sire. 
'* But would he on our union smile, 
" The king and him IM reconcile. 
" Think ye he'd grant my urgent suit ? 
" Think ye. Sir Chief, that you could do't ?" 
" Aye, troth," (he cried) *' Sir Albany, 
" To such a noble foe as thee." 
" Then" (cried Sir Albany) " Fd fain 

" Request 

death! thexe's the breath again. 



■( 79 ) 

" It was not you, I can*t mistake, 

" Look there 1 saw the arras shake.'^ 

"Come, timid lover, calm thy mind," 
(Fitz-Gwarine said) — '^ it was the wind. 
" Go on:" (and then his arm he took) 
" Why do'st thou so attentive look?" 

The knight here stopM, and fix'd his eye 
Fast on the figured tapestry. 
And long with eager gaze he strove 
Expecting soon to see it move ; 
Then cried, " O, if for me. Sir Chief, 
'* Thou can'st obtain the lovely thief 
" That stole my heart*s-ease, in that cell 
" Sole tenant she shall ever dwell, 
" Her guardian I, divinely blest 
" To guard and tend so sweet a guest. 

" For thee. Sir Chief, I have in view 
'* Some services that I may do. 
" By this good sword, that now I draw, 
" I'll swear to keep thy foes in awe; 
" Nay more, those foes thy friends TU bring, 
" And ev'n for thee will speak the king. 



( 80 ) 

" With thee as friend will ever go, 
'' And should I find some lurking foe, 
" With this good sword (that only faiPd 
" When it thy mighty hand assailM) 
" 1^11 pierce him 'till his life-blood flows, 
'' As now I pierce this figured Rose." 
Then fiercely, as the word he spoke. 
He stabb'd the arrassM Rose and Oak; 
And instant heard, in dying tone, 
A shrieking scream and hollow groan. 

O, fancy, as some ploughboy rude 
Deprives her of her downy brood. 

How feels the cushat dove ! 
Her anxious hope defeated now. 
She trembles on a bending bough. 

With looks of murder'd love. 
So felt Fitz-Gwarine as he rais'd 
His arm, and Albany's he seizM, 

But ah, he seiz'd too late. 
As, *' hold, thou heedless youth/' he said,. 
** It is thy love, thy own true maid/* 



( 81 ) 

But oh, the wound was fate. 
Judge ye the wild and fix'd surprize. 
The looks of his astonisVd eyes 

O how shall language tell ? 
When from the parting tapestry. 
With gory gash and languid ey* 

The dying Wrenoc fell t 

" Forgive/' (he fault'ring thus began) 

" Forgive a wretched dying man, 

*' Alas, for death how unprepar'd ! 

" For lured with hope of large reward, 

" EncouragM by a dastard king, 

" I here this cursed dagger bring; 

" This dagger, O Fitz-Gwarine good, 

" DesignM to-night to drink thy blood.** 

Fitz-Gwarine loud to call begaa 
" Support, assist the dying man.*' 
Repentant Wrenoc cried again 
" Support, alas, is all in vain, 
*' For Albany by hand divine 
*' To save thy life has finished minej 
*' But let me all my crimes confesSj 



3 



• ( 82 ) 

" My panting heart heaves less and less; 

*' I feel the film enfold my eyes, 

'' And fast my recollection flies.'* 

Then heaving on his elbow high 

He fetched a deep and long-drawn sigh. 

After short panse, with quivering lip. 

His hand hard pressing on his hip. 

He cried — " at Ludlow from a friend, 

" I learn'd that Albany 

Oh lend 

" Thy hand, undo my breast, 

" For by the belt 'tis sore opprest — 

" I did a crafty falshood frame, 

" false, all false — except the dream." 

Then fearfully with hurried eye 

He said, with agitated sigh, 

" Oh, drive those shadows from the wall, 

'' Look there — ^there — where the moonbeams fall ; 

" — Ye frightful fiends — 

I'll come anon — 

" Hark! — don't ye hear them — 

— on, on, on ! 



( 83 ) 

" O maddens fast my burning brain ; 
** But here — ^this letter will explain— 
" This letter to the king I wrote — 
« _^Tis lost— alas, I have it not." 

Quoth Albany, " just now 'twas found 
" I'th' banquet-room upon the ground, 
" And brought to me by Raumpayne John 
'' It urg'd me to the deed I've 'done* 
*' Here, as we paced it to and fro, 
" Villain, I saw thy foot below; 
** Hints then I threw here in thy way 
'* To rouse thee unto equal fray, 
*' I not so soon to slay thee meant ; 
** To rouse thee was my blow's intent.^* 

You've seen in March's chilly morn 
A heavy raindrop on a thorn 

A moment bright and glaring; 
Then for a moment dim and dead; 
Then burnish'd bright all fiery red. 
With dazzling flashes flaring ; 

And, as the sighing gust came o'er. 
Fall damp and dead to shine no more. 



C 84 ) 
So Wrenoc's wan and heavy eye 
The quivering lids of pallid dye 

At times but barely parted; 
Then sudden o'er his features came 
A fearful, wild, and vivid gleam 
That looks of horror darted; 

And then again they seemed to close. 
And sink a moment in repose. 

Short while they paus'd, as wild and wan 
The mark'd and sooth'd the dying man. 
They heard the wind with rushing sound 
That eddied shrill the castle round. 
The trees howl'd hollow to the blast. 
The moon her flickering lustre cast 
Among the rocking branches tali. 
And markM them waving on the wall. 

With languid eye and lessening pain, 
Wrenoc essay'd to speak again: 

" Hear me forgive hefore I go, 
*' Sir Knight, thy well-directed blow; 
" Can ye forgive the crimes so foul 
*** That torture now my struggling soul?^' 



( 85 ) 

Fitz-Gwarine then " as I live 

"*' Most freely I thy crimes forgive, 

" For who can dare to pray to Heaven 

^' That bids his foe die unforgiven ?'' 

Quoth Albany, " that text is true, 

*' And Oh, may Heav'n forgive thee too/* 

Wrenoc rejoinM, with heaving heart, 
^ Fve but confessed a little part— 
" The maid deceived — oh burst, my breast, 
*' — Let injured virtue tell the rest.— 
** See, see again — upon the wall — 
•* And, hark! — I dimly hear them call. 
''' — Torture no more my rustling ears— « 
*' Shrowd not my dying soul with fears — 
*' Go, fiends, — FU follow — aye — ^begone — 
« —Oh! how they tear me — 



Then with a long, and lengthenM sigh, 
Hfe raisM his dimly-glistening eye. 
One look upon Fitz-Gwarine cast. 
And deeply groaning, breathM his last 



( 86 ) 

Heaving convuls'd; then on the floor 
Dropp'd all at once, and mov'd no more. 
Fell the curs' d dagger from his hold; 
And soon his face look'd deathly cold, 
Fix'd with a hard and stony glare 
That Horror strong had sculptured there. 

Hold out, my harp, nor let a string 

Relax, the deeds of death to tell; 
Of weal and woe we yet must sing. 

That soon this castle fair hefell. 
Proceed we now o'er many a stair 

As great Fitz-Gwarine led his guest. 
To feast his eyes with lady fair. 

All in her chamber in the east. 
And as they pass'd along, he said, 
*' Before to-morrow's ev'ning come, 
*' Shall Wrenoc's mis-directed head 
** Be laid below the silent tomb. 
" Clerks shall attend in sable stole, 
*' And holy masses shall be said; 
" rU pray for his eternal soul; 
— " Fitz-Gwarine wars not with the dead. 



( 87 ) 

** But come. Sir Knight, to whom I owe 

«* My life for what thy hand has done; 
" rU give thee life, for now 1^11 shew 

" Thy own true love, thy Marion." 
Fitz-Gwarine wonder'd much in mind 

The knight was rousM not at her name^ 
He followM pondering slow behind. 

When to the eastern tow*r they came. 

The tow'r then all in rich array*d 
With ewers, couch, and settles gay. 
With golden toys and cresset bright*. 
For lady fair, or carpet-knight. 

But now, around, and down below 
The nightshade and the nettle grow. 
And early pileworts there unfold 
Their little ^tars of burnishM gold ; 
And close beneath the weedy walls 
The spotty-bellied lizard crawls; 
Or (turn a stone) the mailed worm 
Eurings itself in spiral form ; 
And winds away on gliding tread 
The fiber-footed millepede. 



( 88 ) 
Such squallid habitants are plac'd 
In halls that Beauty once has graced. . 

Fitz-Gwarine rous'd the musing knight> 
And bade him now prepare his sight, 
" Come, laggard, enter thou before, 
"Come, courage, friend, this is the door/* 

He op'd the door, and there was seea 
A maiden of dejected mien. 

That sat the table nigh; 
Her head upon her hand reclin'd. 
She wistful seem'd, but yet resigned. 

And laden was her eye. 
Again Fitz-Gwarine' s wonder grew. 
They not unto each other flew. 

As thus he smiling said; 
" In truth she'll make a bonny bride:'* 
And Albany all cool replied 

" In truth, a goodly maid.'* 
All three awhile in wonder gazM, 
Each with the other's look amaz'd. 

For Marion neither knew; 
But when they told of Wrenoc's fate^ 
She did her simple tale relate. 



{ S9 ) 
Too sad, and oh ! too true : 
"With wringing hands and tears and wail 
It was she told her simple tale; 
But first she heav'd a silent sigh. 

And ev'ry feature seem'd to speak; 
The big drop glisten'd in her eye. 

Then trickled down her cheek, 

" Slain is my love, my hopes are gone, 
'* And friends now have I never a one; 
" Wrenoc, tho' false and recreant provM, 
" 1 lovM, alas, too dearly lov'd. 
" When, captive him in dungeon deep 
*' Thy v,aliant: neighbour Joos did keep,, 
" I freed: him, but with quenchless flame,, 
" I in my turn his captive came. 
" By day Sir Joos he fear'd to see, 
" But nightly paid his court to me :. 
" Ladders of love I knotted tight, 
"• And in my chamber plac'd a light; 
" But oh, the pangs I've since endur'd, 
" Shew me that 'twas myself I lur'd. 
" Spite of his oaths and heedless vows,, ~ 
** Ha nev^r meant to be my spouse,. 



( 90 ) 

" On hearts like his the vows they maker 
'* No longer-lasting traces leave 

'' Than sportive flies that circling streak 
** The glassy pool on summer's eve. 

*' He left me for the monarch's court, 
*' Of lighter hearts the gay resort, 
*' Yet still to lure him back I strove, 
" And penn'd the breathing page of love. 

" At length he came ; but then he said 
" To Whittington in haste he spedj 
'^ A mandate from the royal hand 
'* Secret he carried by command; 
" And if, disguis'd and private^ I 
*' Would thither him accompany, 
*' His message o'er, performed his 'heat, 
♦* Our hands should by the clerk be blest. 

" All day we rode yon hills across, 
" Nor stopp'd by forest, moor, or moss ; 
*' Bright was the day, and fair the scene, 
" Yet Wrenoc rode with gloomy mien, . 
" At length (what time the insects gay 
" Disported in the evening ray) 



( 91 ) 

" He left me in yon bushy ground 
" With blossomM furze all yellowM round; 
'* To fetch me, soon returned again, 
*' And bade me in this room remain, 
" ^Till he had done his king's behest, 
- — " Alas, — I see ye know the rest/' 

She sobbing, with her lilly hand 
KerchiefM her lovely face; 

111 could their manly hearts withstand 
Such bosom->bre3iking grace. 

Like flakes left by a snowy shower 
On Winter's meek and modest flower. 

Its bending head enveiling. 
While o'er the flowery folds so white 
Trickles the chrystal tear-drop bright. 

All slow and silent stealing. 

" Misforti)n'd Marion" (said the chief) 
** A social friend's unforc'd relief 

''My daughter shall apply; 
" In sleep forget awhile thy woes, 
*' Peace to thee, child, and sweet repose. 

— " Come, noble Albany.'' 



( 92 ) 

As they descend the winding stair. 

At times they stop, and thoughts compare,, 

Where hang the cressets high: 
Fitz-Gwarine wishM his doubts remov'd; 
The maid his brave deliverer lov'd 

He sought with asking eye. 
Ye hearers kind, that list my lay, 
I wot your looks all seem to say 

The maid ye long have guessM ; 
Attend, for shortens now my strain. 
As he with quickly-pulsing vein. 

The secret name confessed. 

" Chief, thy captive guest forgive, 
" Nor wonder here he chose to live, 
" When here abode his secret love, 
" Tho' small of converse could we prove. 
*' Need I declare. Sir Chief, that I 
" Am that same knight of Normandy? 
" Need I recount the sharp assail 
" I gave thy hand in Vyrnwy's vale ? 
" Then captive brought to Whittington,, 
« Bound to the rock I split upon,. 



( 93 ) 

" I saw, and sorrowing learnM her nanre^ 
" Yet we contrivM to hide our flame, 
*' 'Till I no more might dread the ire 
*' Of thee my foe, of thee her sire, 
" O needs it then. Sir Chief, he said 
*' Thy Clarice is my faithful maid?'*. 

I wot it boots not here to tell 
What soon this happy pair befell> 
The merry jest, the revel gay 
That circled on a distant day. 
Fair maids, I wot ye guess it well; 
Befits my lay alone to tell 
That tho* Fitz-Gwarine's noble name 
Now habits but the house of Fame, 
His virtues live, his honours shine 
Thro* Albany's yet living line : 
Grace may they e'er from son to son 
This fair domain of Whittington, 
Espousing, as of late they have. 
The daughters of the truly brave; 
And shine may each succeeding pair 
Brave as our knight, — as Clarice fair. 



( ^4 ) 
Yet leave we not untold, I trow^ 
The fate of Marion, maid of woe^ 
But shew before the story die. 
On what we hang our drapery ; 
And soon, I ween, will all be done. 
Closing with what we first begun. 
Then, O my harp, for thee and me 
Silence is best apology. 

Damp, dull, and cloudy lookM the day 
As morn arose in shrowd of grey; 
Stirr'd not. the wind the sighing oak. 
Yet downwards dash'd the spreading smoke;, 
A fringey cloud, dark, heavy, still. 
Curtained thy brow, Selattyn hill. 
The fog was slowly seen to glide 
Adown old Breidden's craggy side. 
That scarce his head abrupt could shew 
Thro' heavy clouds that hung below; 
— Sign certain to the knowing swaia 
Portentive of impending rain. 

And now, with more than sister's care^ 
Sweet Clarice sought for Marion fair,. 



( 93 ) 
With hopes to heal her woe ; 
In vain, alas, she looked around, 
.For ah! poor Marion^ s corse was found 
Deep in the lake below ! 

Since when, as villagers believe, ' 
Her spirit haunts the lake at eve. 
But soon the fog of error flies. 
As bright the rays of knowledge rise. 
With light, and warmth, and comfort kind 
Glancing within the gloomy mind. 

And soop the rays of knowledge here 
The rising villagers shall cheer; 
For fast beside the castle pool 
A Christiaii true has rais'd a school, 
(Of Albany descended He 
The friend belov*d of Man and me) 
Where bright her beams Religion flings. 
And Science plumes her infant wings. 
And little eyes with tear-drops dim 
Smile gratitude to God and him. 

And as my harp's now ceasing lay 
Upon the distance dies away^ 



( 96 ) 

Whose witching notes of comfort kind 
Dispel the gloom of my poor mind; 
So Science soon shall Reason bid 
To exorcise the spirit-rid. 
And Superstition drive ere long 
To live but in the poet's song. 



Now, harp, farewell; no more we'll hold 
The tir'd attention ; f or 'tis told— 
Why — (as village tales recite) 

Yon castle's gloomy tow'r besid«. 
Is dimly seen at fall of night, ^ 

A Phantom vested all in white. 

Along the lake to glide. 
Where yon old window's ruins rude 
Appear inverted in the flood; 
And then, as fades the twilight grey, 
Crlides with the curling mist away. 



The Aathor, unwilling to burden his little book *wkb 
notes, refers those readers who may wish to peruse some 
historical account of the Fitz-Gwarines, to Leiand's Coliectanea; 
Philips's Shrewsbury; and Penant's Tour in North Wales; as 
being the books of readiest access.—-The ancient Welsh Melodies 
alluded to, may be found :n Joaes's Reliques of the Bards , 
and the collection of Parry. 



1 



Mf^mts. 



PART I. 



legentiarp* 



" it is old and pla 



The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 

And the free maids that weave their threads with bones 

Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth." 

TWILTTH Mi©HT. 



CJre €rej?e JSaron; 



A BALLAD, 



PARTE THE FIRSTE. 



;' Whither so faste, Ihou ladye faire, 

" Ah stoppe thy steede so whyte, 
^' The sunne is hygbe in the westerue skycj 

" And distante is the nyglite: 
'* Ah stoppe and soothe the sorrowes sadde 

" That in my castle preye, 
" Where no songe can sounde, nor dance goe rouude, 

*' Nor musicke naerriiie phiye." 



( 102 ) 

' Ah why me staye, thou Baron grey'e ? 

'* Ah why delaye my flyghte ? 
' The sunnc is hyghe, but I must flye 

*' To distant realmes to-nyghte: • 
* I hasten o'er the mossie moore, 

" To >vedde my lover gaye. 
'Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounds 

" And the musicke merrilie playe/' 



% 



Yet deigne to taste the lordlie feaste 
" That I this nyghte prepare. 
For what's a feast unless it's graced 
" With store of ladyes faire ? 
The tender mynde no joye can fynde 
'' Where ladyes are awaye^ 

Tho' the songe may sounde and the dance goe rounde^ 
^' And the musicke merrilie playe.^' 



" 1 cannot staye, thou Baron greye> 

" Thro' woodie wildes I rove ; 
" And whore's the thing can staye the winge, 

" Th' unwearied wing of love? 



f 103 ) 

" Yet to soothe Ihy care and sadde despairs 

" An houre or two I'll staye^ 
" Tho' no songe shall sounde nor dance goe roimde, 

" Nor musicke merrilie playe 



^* The roHinge sunne his race hath rimne^ 

'' The twylyghte's glimmerings fade; 
" The moon is bryghte and the starres are lyghte — ■ 

— " Six tedious houres I've stay'd. 
" Far hence I rove to meet my love, 

" (This is my wedding daye) 
"Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde 

" And the musicke merrilie play«. 

" Yet ladye, staye, once more I praye, 

" Another boone I crave; 
" My onlie sonne is deade and gone, 

*' — This nyghte he seekes the gr^ve; 
" ^ixe virgins faire his palle will heare, 

" And see him laide in claye, 
" And the belle shall sounde and the chaunte goe round* 

'* And the slowe dirge heavilie playe. 



( 104 ) 

" Then heare my prayer, thou ladye faire^ 

" Nor o*er the mountains rove; 
" Remaine with me a youthe to see 

" That dy'd for ladye's love.— 
*' — Prepare the tombe, the houre is come, 

" Goe beare my sonne awaye ; 
"Let the death-belle sound and the chaunte goe rouiide^' 

'' And the slowe dirge heavilie playe. 

" Goe on, goe on, ye sable throng©, 

" In solemn silence move; 
" A youthe ye beare, ye virgins faire, 

" That dy'd for ladye's love.— 
*' Acrosse the nyghte let tapers bryghte 

" Shoote forthe a lengthenM raye, 
' Let the deathe-belle sounde and the chaunte goe round* 

" And the slowe dirge heavilie playe." 

Then sadde and slowe the virgins goe, 

— The ladye followed too, 
When lookinge downe the coffin on — 

— Her lover's name she knewe ? 



t 



( 105 ) 
Her limbes so faire no more could beare. 

But on a tombe she laide. 
While the belk did sounde and the chaunte wenterounde 

And the slowe dirge heavilie playM. 



CJie (Bvtpt Baton. 

i 

PARTE THE SECONDE. 

" Yet wipe thy teare^ thou ladye faire, 

" Thou yet may'st happie bee ; 
" But since my sonne is deade and gone, 

" No joye remains for mee: 
" A lover kinde thou soon may'st finde 

" ^Mid scenes of pleasure gaye, 
"Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde | 

" And the musicke merrilie playe. 



" Yet, ladye, praye, when far awaye 

" To happie mansions gone, 
*' Ah thinke, I praye, on the Baron greye, 

'* And of his hapless sonne. 






( 107 ) 

' Then fare thee welle, and may'st thou dwelle 

*' ^Mid scenes of pleasure gaye, 
' Where no chaunte goes rounde nor deathe-belles sounde 

" But musicke menilie playe/' 

' Ah cease, I praye, thou Baron greye, 

" Thy comforte is in vaine; 
' The hearte for aye that's given awaye 

'* Can ne'er be given againe. 
' I'll put me on thy mourninge gowne, 

*' And at breake and close of daye, 
' The belle shall sounde and the chaunte goe rounde, 

" And requiems heavilie playe. 

' Yet ah, throw backe thy weedes of blacke, 

" Since now the dirge is done, 
* For in thy face I faintlie trace 

" Some features of thy sonne : 
To soothe thy paine I'll here remaine, 

" -Till thy laste yeares decaye ; 
' 'Till thy belle shall sounde and thy chaunte goe rounde 

" And thy slowe dirge heavilie playe/* 



( 108 ) 

Me theft laide downe his sable gowne, 

— And his horie lockes and bearde ! 
And to her eyes withouten guise 

Her lover irue appeared. 
" Drie up thy teare, thou ladye faire, 

" I've provM thy faithe to-daye; 
*' Nowe the songe shall sounde and the dance goe roundc 

** And the musicke merrilie playe." 



" Our kindrede all within the halle 

*' The weddinge feaste arrayej • 

" Where the songe shall sounde and the dance goe rounde 

" And the musicke merrilie playe." 
^hey found them all within the halle 

And the weddinge feaste array de. 
And the songe did sounde, and the dance wente round^^ 

And the musicke merrilie playde. 



A BALLAD. 

Up Pen-yr-Voel in Summer da^s 
We youths and damsels climb; 

And listless press, reclinM at ease, 
The freckled mountain thyme. 

The hev'rage of the China weed 

Sipping so cherrily, 
^ome sad or simple tale we read^ 

Or sing right merrily. 

^Tis sooth to see the sunny glean* 
Whdre Vyrnwy's waters glide; 

And sooth to hear the mournful stream 
Of Tanat's murm'rin§^ tide* 



( 110 ) 

But soother far the maideu's eyes. 
More bright the drops they hold* 

And far more sorrowful her sighs 
When some lorn tale is told. 

How happy must that minstrel he 
That moves the maiden^s tear! 

The bard obtains his proudest fee 
When ladies lend an ear. 

But ah! the feeblest of the train> 

No magic glass I hold 
The web from Fancy's loom to stain, 

You bid me now unfold. 

But what of that? these mountain flowers 

As aptly suit their place. 
As those that flaunt on braided bowers^ 

Or tricksy gardens grace. 

The maid commands: my lyre, obey, 

Tho' poor thy tuneful toil. 
To fling a legendary lay 

On fameless Pen-yr-Voel. 



( 111 ) 

Whereon, since first yon camp was pil'd. 
Full many a blast has blown; 

And many a Summer's evening mild 
In peaceful beam has shone. 

Alike the warrior's blast or beam. 

To fall or fade resigned. 
If reckless of the poet's flame, 

" Leaves not a rack behind." 

Strange misteries fill yon neighb'ring. hill^ 
Sones, caverns, camps, and graves. 

And all the antiquarian^s skill 
To wild conjecture leaves. 

But had some bard in days of old 

But left one living line. 
His page with joy would be unroll'd, 

Tho' were it weak as mine. 

Yet hoar Tradition loves to tell 

This tale of Voel's toil; 
How here that hapless warrior fell. 

And calls it Pen-yr Voel. 



C 112 ) 

Voel, a youthful warrior he,. 

For so the legend goes^ 
^archM in the British forces free^ 

To fiaht their Saxon foes. 



*&' 



^' With courage, guards, your watches keep, 

" The Saxon foe is nigh; 
**' Beware the drowsy dew of sleep, 

" For he that sleeps shall die/^ 

Commands like tliese from Voel flew 

Unto the guards of night. 
Who to his tented turf withdrew. 

Foreboding on the fight. 

" Ah, soon wilt thou thy love forget, 

" Gwendolen dear,'* he cries, 
" For ere to-morrow's sun be set, 

" Perhaps thy Voel dies. 

*f But I am arm'd with right of heart, 

" For death I look to find; 
^^ Yet still with life am loth to part, 

*"' For thee I leave behind. 



( 113 ) 

" But should our arms in triumph shine, 

" (Ye Powers grant it so) 
" For ever then is Voel thine, 

*' And thou art VoePs too. 

" But while the battle round me roars, 

" And arms and arrows ring, 
'' A thought on Jier my heart adores 

" Will strength and courage bring. 

" Enough — if hope deserts my heart, 
" This thought my bosom chears, 

" How she when Voel did depart, 
*' Stood gazing thro^ her tears." 

He pausM — and list'ned to the blast:. 

That blew with beating rain. 
In clouds the sky was overcast. 

And not a star v/as seen, 

'Twas such a night when shrill and keen 

The spitting scud is driven. 
And troubled tree-tops, dimly seen. 

Just fret the edge of heaven* 



( 114 ) 
When o'er yon rushy marshes damp 

A youthful soldier mov'd. 
Who sought to join brave VoePs camp. 

For Voel was belovM. 

*' Direct me, guard, and advise 

*' How I may come unto 
" The tented turf where Voel lies, 

" For Tm his soldier time. 

" O'er marsh and mountain far 1 come 
" Strange tidings here to bring 

" From fair Gwendolen's distant home, 
" Behold her signet ring. 

" But, guard, I deem it is denied 
" For aught to enter here ; 

" Do thou, then, wliile I here abide, 
" This ring to Voel bear. 

^' Upon your post Pll firmly stand, 
" And will your office learn; 

" And with your halberd in my hand^ 
" J^U wait Hill you return.** 



( 115 ) 

The guard coiiiplies; deserts his keep 5 

And hies to Voel's tent; 
But soon the soldier sunk to sleep. 
With toil fatiguM and spent. 

yio sweet repose hrave Voel fe\%j 

Upon his turf teclinM; 
His thoughts upon Gwendolen dwel|, 

Gwendolen filPd his mind. 

And oft he pac'd the camp around. 
The wakeful guards to view; 

The wakeful guards he constant founA 
Upon their stations true. 

Brave Voel then was pleasM to see 
The guards their watches keep; 

But passing by the outer way. 
He found the guard asleep. 

Unguarded when the place he found 
That stood in greatest need. 

With hasty hand he gave a wound 
Th^t made the soldier bleed. 



( 116 ) 

But quick a voice assaiFd his ear; 

** What hest does Voel send? 
^' But, guard, why strike my bosom here, 

^' Hast thou forgot thy friend? 

" But haste, my words to Voel bear, 
" My words can be but few; 

" I would a moment he were here^ 
" Or he my tidings knew. 

<* Tell him/^ the bleeding soldier cried* 
" To join his ranks I thought, 

** And by the valiant VoePs side, 
" Most brave would I have fought, 

" Go bid him here, for death is nigh, 

" His dying friend to view; 
*' And say, that he may speedier fly, 
- '' I lovM Gwendolen too/' 

Then Voel thought the voice he knew. 
Aught else the night concealM, 

" And wKo,'' he fault'ring cried, "art.tho% 
" That ha'st this tale reveaPd ?" 



( 117 ) 

The dying soldier fainting lay. 
Whom loss of blood overcame. 

And scarce had breath enough to say 
— " Gwendolen is my name ! " 

Nor tree nor tombstone now exit* 

To mark their resting spot. 
Or there some village moralist 

Might well this rhyme have wrote; 

Beware, ye maids, tho^ fair and chaste^ 
That leave your proper sphere; 

And, youths, that yield to heedless haste, 
Tho' valiant and sincere. 



Is high in the West Point of the rock at^NessclifF, and seen SI 
over the wood from the great road : it is much visited by passing 
strangers, to v^hom the following Ballad (containing most of the 
' authentic particulars known of him) is told, and given for a 
small perquisite, by the old woman who inhabits it. 



Come sit ye down, fair gentlefolks. 

Sit around my sunny cell; 
J'or fresh and gay is the summer's day. 

And I'll of wild Humphrey tell. 

Oh have ye not heard of the Wild Humphrey, 

SurnamM of Kynaston ? 
His father was dead, and he in his stead 

As governor livM alone. 



{ 119 ) 

The castle of Middle, then high in pride, 

Obey'd young Humphrey's law: 
But his state-room now is a stall for the cow. 

Where the cottager keeps his straw. 

'Twas merry in the hall of the young Humphrey, 

And the gay mirth sounded high; 
When home Iq his bed young Humphrey le4 

Isabelle of Oswestry. 

Now she was a maiden of low degree. 

He in pow^r and parents great: 
t)h had they but thought on their different lot. 

Far bettei- had been their fate. 

But Willlam-c^ch her father fond 

Sought a match for his daughter high; 

And it pleasM him well when young Humphrey fell 
In love with her coal-black eye. 

And, in sooth to tell, it might have been well. 
And bliss have blessed their board. 

Had he but thought on his wife's poor lot. 
And hearken*d to Prudence' word. 



( 120 ) 

But tliouglitless and wild with his gay gallants, 
The Twelve good rules he bro'ke; 

So many a good house by a thoughtless spouse 
Is marr'd by modern folk. — 

iHigh breach of trust at length he made^ 
And was by the king outlawed ; 

Then his wild career began to appear. 
And a bold freebooter he vodj^. 



This cavern (then the poor quarriers' cell) 
He biggen'd and took for his own; 

And those hooks then bore an iron dooij^ 
In Severn's town yet shewn. 

His name and the date ye see cut on the cavcj 
Tho' Time has the traces worn; 

And the gentlefolks here say 'tis the same year 
When Nature's great Poet was born. 

He caird Spirits from hell, as the old folks tell> 
And they say that he dealt with the Devil: 

-If so learned he was, it were pity, alas. 
To turn that blessing to evil. 



1 



( 121 ) 

The horse that he rode was a spirit, they say. 
That came at his whistle, and turii'd; 

But show-horses I've seen that convince me, I ween. 
That his horse, and not he, was so learn'd* 

To poor Isabelle he bade no farewell. 
But bade her go home to her kin : 

Now anH it a shame that great gentlefolks 
That ought to know better should sin ? 

His whistle so shrill arousM from the hill. 

The daws in the cliffs that build: 
Then ^twas up and away with the dawn of day 
^ To try what the road would yield. 

Old Montford bridge the sheriff took down. 

And to take him in ambush lay; 
But the horse at a reach sprung over the breach. 

And to Nesscliff safe bore him away. 

The leap was since measured on Dovaston-heath, 
And bequeath'd was a tester a-year. 

While the sun-beams shone, or the rain-drops run. 
To keep the great letters clear. 



( 122 ) 
The letters and leap were a spade-grafF deep. 

For 'twas tippM with an H and a K; 
And (unless I'm bely'd) it was forty-foot wide. 

And the Horse-leap 'tis cali'd to this day. 

Then the Horse-leap butt, where the letters were cut. 
With the heath-ling blossom was red : 

But the sun and the rain now on Dovaston-plain, 
Fill the wheat and the barley's head. 

*Twould be breathless to tell of all that befell 

Wild Humphrey so lawless and bold; 
Tho' much there is wrote, and more too, I wot. 

By the marvelling villagers told. 

• 

As how from the rich he their purses took 
To fill up the wants of the poor: •• 

And how victuals and corn he found each morn 
Left close at his cavern door. 

How his horse up these steps, now half cut away. 
From the fields at a whistle would come: 

See there was his stall, with a bolt in the wall, 
'Tis now my snug sleeping room. 



( 123 ) 
And I oft ask myself as to Heaven I pray. 

When I in that chamber recline, 
Tho^ grandeur is great with its riches and state. 

Is its bed so peaceful as mine? 

And I wonder to think on you fine gentlefolks^ 

(While over my Bible Pm bent) 
Of the power possessed to bless and be blessM, 

Ye are not with all content. 

But, alack, I am rambling; Vm foolish and old. 
Or needs must have judgM it uncommon. 

That folks who such texts from the parson neglect. 
Should attend to a preaching old woman. 

Well, as I was a-telling. Wild Humphrey he led 

This wayward life many a year; 
But he found he grew old, and time as it rolPd 

To the end of his stage, drew near. 

When life starting young is both healthy and strong, 

¥nbridled it gallops with haste; 
But when it no more likes the prospect before. 

It turns to look back on the past. 



( 124 ) 

So Humphrey the Wild lookM back on the past. 

But all lookM fog^y and foul; 
And as Death drew near^, Hope laboured with Fear 

To glint on his gloomy soul. 

All one as the clouds of a winter's eve 

O'er yonder rocks are seen. 
When dimly the gleam of a faint sun-beam 

Endeavours to break between. 

Now a woman did dwell at Westfelton's fam'd well. 
That in simples and herbs was skill'd; 

And well she knew for what purpose the dew^ 
Their flowers and leafage fiUM. 

And 'twas said by her care but more by her pray'r 
The sick and the simple they spedj 

And the old folks tell that now live at the well 
What a goodly life she led. 

Now this good woman came to the Wild Humphrey, 

But found when she came there. 
To avert Death's hour was past her pow'p. 

But he hop'd for her help in pray'r. 



( 125 ) 
Oh dim and dull was his dwindling eye. 

When thus did the good dame say. 
What most should I, thou poor Humphrey, 
*■ Unite with thee to pray? 

Wild Humphrey then, with faultering word> 

For myself I repent to Heaven; 
But if in life yet breathes my wife 

I would be by her forgiven. 

Then as he died the lady cried 

At my last hour of life 
God pardon me as I do thee^ 

— Now, she was Humphrey's wife. 

Then for his soul she knelt and pray'd. 

To reach that happy shore 
Where for ever blest the weary rest. 

And the wicked sin no more. 

So, fair gentlefolks, of the Wild Humphrey 

I've told you in hobbling stave. 
That I something may earn, and yau something may 
learn 

By visiting this his cave. 



( 126 ) 

One evening a youth, a friend to truth. 
For me made this homely strain; 

And should it procure but a mite for the poor. 
He has not made it in vain. 



A BALLAD. 

Llunck-Llys Pool is a small but beautiful lake, of ex- 
traordinary depth, on the Welsh Border near Oswestry. The 
name in the Welsh signifies Sunk-Palace, and the vulgar have 
a firmly-believed superstition (in which this neighbourhood 
abounds) corresponding with the catastrophe of this ballad; 
nay, some even at this day go so far as to affirm, that when 
the water is clear and the surface smooth, towers and chim- 
neys may be seen in it at a great depth! In the summer 
months fishing parties of ladies and gentlemen frequently 
spend the day on It in a boat with music and refreshments: 
for one of such occasions this ballad was hastily written, when 
my ingenious friend Mr. T. Yates, (though as little skilled 
as myself in the Welsh) suggested a more fanciful and per- 
haps more accurate derivation of the name — Llyn-glas^ the 
Blue Lake 

The story of the vulgar is here enlarged by a very slight 
hint taken from Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy,*' where 
he treats of Incubi and Succuiif page 405. fol. edit. Oxford. i6a8. 



.jam 



A BALLAD. 

Clerk Willin he sat at king Alaric^s board. 

And a cunning clerk was he. 
For heM liv'd in the land of Oxenford 

With the sons of gramarie. 

And they listenM to the harps of the merry minstrels. 

And they looked on the banquet bright; 
But of all that was there the young queen so fair 
^ Shone brightest of all that night. 

High glitterM the crown on her graceful brow, 
'Twas with beryl and sapphire pearl'dj 

And roses enwreathM the rim beneath. 
Where the raven ringlets curPd, 



( m ) 

And they quafPd the red tide to the blooming bride. 
And their goblets heaved on high; 

But clerk Willin took up no brimming cup. 
Nor joined in the jovial cry. 

" Now Christ thee save, thou clerk Willin, 

" Why sits't thou sad and low ? 
" And why do'st thou pry with attentive eye 

" So long on the west window ?" 

'' I am watching the star that shines afar 
*' O^er the rocks of the Giant's grave, 

" That sinking soon with the sharp-horn'd moonj 
'' Will set in the western wave/* 

Then oh paler than the pale primrose 
WaxM the cheeks of the fair ladye. 

And, as she withdrew, on the clerk she threw 
A glance of her anger' d eye. 

'' Now Christ thee save, thou king Alaric, 

*( Why gloomly bends thy brow ? 
" And why athwart thy heavy eyelids 

'* Hanffs silent sorrow now?" 



( 130 ) 

'' Oh sad and dark, thou learned clerk, 

" Is my life, with sorrow riven ; 
" And thus am I doomM with grief to be gloom'd 

" One night in every seven. 

" Then what though my splendid banquet board 

" With golden beakers shines, 
" And friends fill up each costly cup 

" With the mead and the racy wines! ^ 

*' One night in each week does my blooming bride 

" In grief from my palace go ; 
" But what she does, or where she goes, 

'' I dare not seek to know. 

" One night in seven she leaves my bed, 
" When the owls and the crickets cry; 

" And cold as a stone then I lie all alone, 
" 'Till the day-star burns in the sky. 

" Then a thick slumber falls on my heavy eye-balls; 

" And I start from a feverish sleep, 
" And my blooming bride I find at my side, 

" When the red sun 'gins to peep. 



( 131 ) 

" And tho* she has been all the night abroad 
*' In a thin loose night-robe dressM, 

" Oh strange to be told, she is nothing cold, 
*' But glows with a warmth encreas'd, 

" Nine summers nigh are now gone by, 
" And I thought it a blessed day 

" When my aged bride I put aside, 
" And took this lady gay. 

" As a hunting I rode in the green forest 
'' Fair BlodwelPs rocks among, 

" By my side each day rode this lady gay, 
*' And sweetly thus she sung — 

' Oh, take me to thy fair palace, 
' Oh, take me for thy queen, 
' And racy wines shall then be thine, 
* As never a man has seen. 

• And never shall fail thy rich banquet, 

' And my beauty no change shall know, 

' 'Till within thy hall the flag-reeds tall, 
' And the long green rushes grow. 



( 132 ) 

* 'Till instead of the cloth now spread on thy board, 
' And the goblets linM with gold, 

' The lilliesofthe pool spread their broad leaves cool, 
' And their chaliceM flowers unfold. 

* But ere I become thy wedded wife, 

' Thou a solemn oath must make, 
' And let hap whatever thou must not dare 

' That solemn oath to break : 

' That to leave thy bed unfoUowed 

' To me 'tis freely given, 
' And that none shall enquire where I retire, 

' One night in every seven/ 

*' Then I vow'd I would put my old wife away, 

" As firm to the oath I swore; 
*' But mayhap she had hent of my cruel intent, 

" For I never beheld her more. 

'' Yet no peace I find in the rich banquet, 
" And with peace is my bed unblest, 

*' Tho' lies at my side no wrinkled bride, 
« But the maid of the green forest." 



( 133 ) 

Then clerk Willin he cried to the troubled kiftg;, 

" Thy peace can I repair, 
" If each year from yon field ten beeves thou'Ii yleW 

" To the monks of the White-Minster,* 

^' And peace shall preside in this fair palace, 
" And thy bed with peace be blest, 

" If to me thou'lt resign, with her racy wiae, 
" The maid of the green forest. 

** For I can by a spell, that I dare not tell, 

" Relieve thy fetter'd fate; 
** And I shew'd the young queen my power, I ween, 

*' By a sign that I dare not repeat." 

Then the king he complied to resign his bride. 
And each year on the monks bestow 

The tenth of what fed in his palace green mead. 
And of what in his vaults did flow. 

• Blanchminster, afterwards Maserfield, now Oswestrjr» 

N 



9 



( -134 ) 

Then clerk Willin he took his clasped book. 

And did the fair palace leave ; 
And arrived soon, ere set the moon. 

On the rocks of the Giant's grave. 

By the mouth of a cavern a bowshot beyond 

Clerk Willin he took his stand ; 
Which ev'n at this day, as the villagers say. 

Leads down to the Fairy-land. 

Tho' none now dare to adventure so far. 

Yet many this day have aver'd 
They its windings did thread 'till over their head. 

The far Vyrnwy's stream they have . heard. 

Now soon did appear and enter there 

A maid right royally drest. 
Whose glittering crown in the moon-beam shone, 

— 'Twas the maid of the green forest. 

And while she was in did the clerk begin 

His spells of potent skill ; 
While the rising blast sigh'd low as it pass'd 

Thro' the stunted bush on the hill. 



( 13& ) 

Then he made that revokeless should be his word. 

As thus to his spirit* he said, 
" Let peace be restored to king Alaric's board, 

" And peace be on his bed. 

" And may I and the monks of the White-Minster 

" No other fare e^er know, 
'* Than what shall be fed in his palace green mead, 

" And what from his vaults shall flow. 

*' And his queen so fine be for ever mine, 
" And no change let her form betide, 

*' But thro' all her years be as now it appears, 
" And ne^er let her leave my side. 

'* At the cross near the town of the White-Minster, 

" To make her my own I swear, 
" There let her be borne ere glimpse of morn, 

'' And I'll meet her and wed her there." 

And then as he swore, his book he tore. 
And hastened away from the cave. 

It was dark; for the moon it had loag» gone down. 
And set in the western wave. 



( 136 ) 

It was dark as he pass'd the palace so fair. 

Nor aught did his sight engross 
^Till he came to the cross near the White-Minster 

Yet calPd clerk Williu's cross. 

Then he saw hy the light of the torches bright 
That strange Spirits there did hold. 

An old Ogress grim, that smiPd on him. 
And her rheumy eye.halls roll'd. 

Oil her wrinkled chin stood tlie grey hairs thin. 
And she close did her skin lips squeeze. 

And thick on her brow did the grey hairs grow^ 
Like the moss of old orchard-trees. 

And she reach'd to the clerk her bony finger. 

On which was brightly seen> 
And well was it known by its sparkling stone. 

The ring of king Alaric^s queen, 

" Oh take me to thy cloister'd bed, 

*' To be thy bosom guest, 
" For 1 am the wife thou art sworn to wed, 

«' The maid of the green forest. 



( 137 ) 

'' An ugly Ogress now am I. 

" Though thrice ten years agone^ 
" In youthful pride the blooming bride 

" Of king Alaric I shone. 

" But I found as I my beauties lost, 

" I lost his lov^ as well, 
" 'Till nine years since I charmM that prince 

" With this a Spirit's spell : 

* That his eyes should delight in my beauty bright, 
" Which never should lose it's hue, 
"^ *Till within his hall the flag-reeds tall, 
*' And the long green rushes grew 

'^ And this spell was given if one night in seven 
'^ Ere the pale moon set in the wave, 

*' I alone did go to the grim Ogo, 
" And an Ogress form receive. 

*' This night I sat late at the gay banquet, 
*' And just ere my task was done, 

" Thy spells were said, and the pale mooh's head 
" Was down to the west wave gone. 



'^\ 



( 138 J 

•* Our power is passed, our spells have clash^ 
*' No charm can our fate redress; 

" And a penitent now for life art thou, 
" And I a grim Ogress* 

" Thy spells were sure, for now peace secure 

" Doth bless king Alaric's bed, 
" And peace is re^stor'd at his banquet board, 

'' — B\jt it is the peace of the dead. 

*' For down went the king, and his palace, and all, 
" Amd the waters now o^er it flow, 

" And already in his hall do the flag-reeds tall,. 
" And. the long green rushes grow. 

** Then take thy bride to thy ckisterM bed, 
" As by oath and by spell decreed, 

*' And nought be thy fare but the pike and the dartr, 
'• And the water in which they feed." 

Still the villagers near, when the lake is clear. 

Shew the tow'rs of. the palace below. 
And of Croes-Willin there will th« traveller hear. 
And the cave calPd the grim Ogo. 



C 13^ ) 

And oft from our boat on a Summer's eve 

Sweet music is heard to flow. 
As we push from the side of the Blue-Lake's tide^. 

Where the long green rushes grow. 

And our banquet is spread on the boat's flat head^ 
And our cool wine drawn from the hold. 

Where the lillies of the pool spread their broad? 
leaves cool. 
And their chalicM flowers unfold. 

And we make good fare of the pike and the dare^. 

And merrily laugh at the jest. 
How clerk Willin was caught in his own dark plot. 

With the maid of the green forest. 

And quaffing the glass we pray that each lass 

* May each constant lover bless; 
And may guests that would cheat a kind host (d: 
his mate* ^ 

Be matched with, a grim Ogress. 



PART II. 

3fncit>ental. 

1 am nae poet, in a sense, 
j^ut just a rhymer, like, by chance. 



BURK4« 



irregular 0U 



TO 



g>jafe0jpeare'0 Btttjtja^. 

Written and recited on occasion of a few literary friends 
planting a Walnut-tree (having a wine-bottle bujied under 
the root, with an appropriate inscription cut thereon, with 
a diamond) in thej author's ground, on that day in i8io, and 

intending to celebrate it annually. 



f 



h 



#be 



TO 



INSCRIBID TO 

JOHN CLAVERIMC^ WOOI>> es(?i. 



Nature, now thy beiuties brirts^. 

Bid Genius now it^s tribute pay; 
Ha^e the many-blossom 'd spring-, 
'Tis thy Darling's natal day : 
Borne on Zephyr's breezy wings 
Her varied vesture Fancy flings; 
Methinks I see her rainbow-colour'd car 
Gliding on curPd clouds thro' blue fields of air. 
To Avon's meadows cowslip-clad 

She wheels her mazy way; 
Well pleas'd to see all nature glad. 
And Spring her flaunting flow'rets add. 
To hail the greatly-gifted lad 
Upon his natal day. 



( 146 ) 

111 showery April's sunshine bright, 
(Who calPd that day 
Her sister May 
To hasten with her hawthorns white) 
In Avon's mead 
The lad was laid 
When first he saw the light; 
Primroses peeping from their buds of gold 
Seem'd eagerly their eye-lids to unfold. 
As though they smil'd 
To see the child 
Who in his turn their charms enraptur'd should behold. 
The lingering flow'rs pushed forth their heads 
And burst their downy-cradled beds; 
The ladysmock with silver-tippM, 
The opening daisy crimson-lipp'd. 
And all with April's dew impearl'd. 
Their finely-tinted folds unfurPd, 
As tho' they wish'd by him to have their praises told. 

Hush'd is the breeze. His silence drear. 
The sun enclouds his watery beams; 

The skies a thickening aspect wear. 
And Nature's self in sadness seems; 



( U7 ) 

A chilly fearful murmur stirs 

The hollow-hissing grove of firs. 

And far the dark horizon o*cr 

The dim-distinguish'd thunders roar. 

^Tis Fancy hangs o'er Nature's brow 

This gloom so sad and wild. 

Lest scenes to be unfolded now 

Should fright her fav'rite child; 

For now athwart the troubled sky 

The HELLISH Passions hurry by; 

And each with hasty louring flight. 

Glaring by fits before his sight. 

Like phantoms of a horrid night 

Their grisly features roll; 

But Nature fir'd her infants' eye. 

That,, glancing as they glided by, 

Prov'd all their various pow'rs to lie 

Beneath his vast controul. 

He bow'd his head. 
The phantoms fled. 

The gloom forsook the plain; 

The fearless child 

Look'd round and smiPd, 

Aad Nature, brightening, seem'd to smile again. 



( 148 ) 

Fresli'd is the flowery scene. 
The blackbird swells his mellow throat; 

And thro' the blue serene 
Light fleecy clouds beyond the mountains float; 
Oh Avon's softly-flowing stream 
Now brightly-burnish'd, sunbeams gleam 

Among tide-kissing trees; 
Their lustres on the wet leases glance 
As they lightly- trembling dance 

To the balmy breezy. 
The HEAYENLT Passions now decend 
To bail this gentle child their friend; 
Virgin-vested maidens fair 
Whose slender waists some ribband rare 
Engirdled, by^ whose varied hue 
The little bard each Passion knew: 
Their covered bosoms' lovely glow 
Ting'd their gauzy robes of snow 
As if carnations blush'd below. 

Fairies left their lurking-cells 
" Where the bee sucks" in blossom bells. 
Whom the blue-fly and humble bee 
CaioPd with their minstrelsey. 



( 149 ) 

The heart- enraptured poet saw 
The Passions all with fearless awe. 

And looked with steady view; 
Until the flighty foot of Fame 
On tiptoe step among them came. 

And to the poet flew: 
The little urchin ran around,^ 
And flung his flow'rets o'er the ground. 

While Fame still followed hard; 
Each scattered flower she culPd with car« 
To wreathe a chaplet for his hair. 

But could not catch the bard. 
Being cheated, as away she flew 

She cried, " in fifty years and two 

Upon this very morn 
He shall be mine, for ever sure 
While Time, and Taste, and 1 endure. 
My Temple to adorn : 
Let Nature now the prince of Passions call 
To crown him ruler of them all/^ 
The waggish archer then attended. 

The maids and fairies formM a ring. 
While each the infant hard befriended. 
And of the Passions crown'd him king. 



( 150 ) 

Now the taper-ankled maids 

Lightly dance the bard around; 
Modest cowslips bow*d their heads. 
And seem'd to kiss the hallowM ground : 
And as they danc'd 
He on them glancM, 
And at them scatter'd flowerets fair; 
Each Passioft took t 

The flowers he shook. 
And stuck them in her braided haii?; 
Conscious how much beauty hung 
On ev'ry little flow'r He flung. 

Ev'n yet on Stratford's elmy lawn 
In cowslip-days at early dawn 

Where he was crowned, I ween, 
Unnibbled, and ol" deeper dye. 
By soul-delighted poet's eye 

The ring may still be see». 



Birge 



VOR THE SAME OCCASION, 23d. APRIL, 1811, 

" Sweets to the sweet : — farewell." 



His fate fuJfilPd, his duty done. 
Nature now calls her favoured son. 

And smiles with proud tho* sweet defiance, 
Pleas'd to the world that she has shewn 
How He, ordain' d by her alone, 

Out-magic'd all the spells of Science. 

Tutor'd by Nature, not the Nine, 
More than the Muses pow'rs combine 

Triumphantly o'er death to raise him; 
Isis, with Attic-laurePd brow. 
Bends to the Bard of Avon now. 

And all her sons are proud to praise him. 



( 152 ) 

Ye Spirits, bend around his bier. 
Ye Fays, in filmy palls appear. 

Cold is the hand that once attir'd you; 
There chaunt, ye flies of burnishM blue. 
And, cowslips, drop your teary dew, 

Clos'd are the eyes that once admir'd yow. 



Enshrowded in that curtain now 

He archly drew from Nature's brow 

When first enraptur'd he surveyM her ; 
But, ere he left her fostering arms. 
Fresh he enrob'd her doubled charms. 

And to the astonishM world displayed ber. 



Time, I ask thee not to spare 
My rhymes, unworthy of thy care. 

Yet for this day, O let me strow them 
Like wild-flow'rs on a village grave 
That fondness flings (but cannot save) 

For love of him that lies below them. 



( 153 > 

But HE, the bright star we hail to-day, 
O Time^ shall never own thy sway. 

But plume thy wing with angel-feather; 
His light shall lustre on thy glass 
Gilding the sand-grains as they pass, 

Aad both — ok both shall fall together. 






TO 



( SCOTTISH DIALECT. ) 

I've sent thee. Tarn, $t wee-bit present, 
An' tho' it binna cock or pheasant 
I trust it wonna prove unpleasant, 

Tho' fain IM mend it; 
But, that thou may'st na think the less on% 

Thy frien^ doth send it. 

Gin I were but a guid hale laird. 
An' could or wealth or pow'r afford, 
Ev'n tho' by swirlie Fortune gor'd. 

Thou should'st na stumble: 
But sin' nae wealth on me is pour'd, 

I maunna grumble. 



.ill 



( 153 ) 

Jevii wishes a' mankind like you. 
But, 'faitti, I maunna wish sac toO;» 
*Twould ruin a' the cantie crew 

O' my profession ; 
Poor lawyers would hae nought to do 

At *ssize or Session. 

I love the life that fools despise. 
The breezy brae, where laverocks rise, 
Aneath the shade to close my eyes. 

Content and nappy ; 
An* tho' 1 binna unco wise, 

I'm unco happy. 



Fou' fa' the fool that did create 
The fikie fashions o' the great. 
Their limber-lingo'd primsie prate. 

An' a' the rest on' t: 
Ae wee-bit welcome tete a tete 

's aboon the best onH. 



( 156 ) 

I'll tell thee what, my honest Tarn, 
The faithless warl my ears may cram 
Wi' honied words, an' friendly flam, 

False a' thegither! 

But, lad, I dinna care a damn 

For a^ their blether. 



A set o' proud conceited fools. 

That turn an* standi like glowr'in^ mules. 

An' worship God by stated rules. 

An* aever mind him; 
'mang a* their logic, books, an' echools. 

They canna find him* 



Gae, fools, an' lay your logic by, 

Gae, fools, an' leave the wrangling stye^ 

An' look for God wi' Tarn an' I 

Thro' Nature clear; 
We peep into a cowslip's eye 

An' ken him there. 



( 157 ) 

My learned brothers, whose deceit 
Tangles what God himseP makes straight. 
The* wi' fou' words o' logic^s heat 

I seldom strike ye. 
Indeed, for a' your robes o^ state, 

I dinna like ye. 



Ct)me, Tanii and taste my muslin kale, 
I'll stoup for thee the laughiu ale. 
An' gar thee smile wi' mony a tale 

I'th' lum thigither; 
An^ gin to please ane sang should fail, 

I'll try anither. 



Wi' music then we'll cheer oursel,' 
Nor rob the rich o' scandal fell. 
Hypocrisy we'll send to Hell, 

For thence her trade is ; 
Tho' aft on Earth she deigns to dwell 

Wi' lairds and ladies. 



{ 158 ) 

But, honest Tam, could I but see 
My ither friends as firm as thee> 
An' ken their hearts wi* tentie ee, 

A* blithe an' bonnie. 
The king himsel' might wish to be 

Thy poor friend 



Johnnie. 



anselma Kobinson ©flcl^rfet, ©sq, E» ^, 

DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, 24th MAY, 1803, 
IN HIS 28th YEAR. 

" nam me discedere flevit, 
*• Et, longum, dilecte^ vale, vale, inquit, lola." 

VIRGIL. 

Mourn, Friendship, mourn Anselmo dead. 

Who most rever'd thy sacred name j 
And, Sympathy, thy pity shed. 

And, Music, waft the woeful theme : 
Ye purest Passions, him deplore, 
— Your faithful voVry is no more. 



( 160 ) 
Who now with us adown the dale 

At eve serene our walk shall cheer? 
Who read the poet's tender tale. 
And drop the sympathetic tear? 
Ah social joys ! for ever fled. 
Since he, the best of friends^ is dead.. 



Still may tlie voice of music sound. 
The social ev'nings still return; 
Still may the friendly glass go round. 
And bright the blazing fire may burn. 
But little now these sweets bested, 
Por he that made them sweet — is dead. 



Now oft I leave the crowd behind 

To wander where he once has been; 
And call each incident to mind 

That happy oft with him I've seen : 
Sad Memory ! ah why so just 
When those we lov*d are laid in, dustl 



( 161 ) 
Come mourn with me. Companions, come, 

We'll sing the dirge he us'd to sing. 
To poor Anselmo's " grassy tomb** 
Each youth a tender tear shall bring; 
And Friendship shall his' loss bemoan. 
For he, the best of friends, is gone : 



And Love but hold — no more 1*11 sing. 

No more PU add to Sorrow's smart; 
I fear Fve touchM a tender string 

That thrills a mourning maiden's heart: 
Sweet maid, like him, to Heav'n resign. 
And he and Heav'n shall then be thine. 



Had we, dear youth, thy poet's pow'rs. 

For thee we'd lift the lofty line; 
No praises then should equal ours. 
For no deserts e'er equal'd thine: 
May all like thee alike be bless'd. 
To live belov'd and die caress'd. 



( 162 ) 

But come, the poet's task forbear^ 
Affliction makes our efforts faint; 
Let's imitate his virtues fair. 

And practice what we cannot paint;. 
Let's tread the noble path he trod— 
— It leads to happiness and God. 



THE 



Einjj. 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Thou hast sent me a circle of gold 

Undeck'd with the diamond's shine; 
But a lovelier sight I behold — 

— Thy initial united with mine! 
And e'er to the "eye of my mind" 

Thy picture it seems to unfold. 
For when beauty and goodness are join'd 

They seem as— a circle of gold. 



( 164 ) 

Let the life of profusion and pride 

To shine like a jewel be seen; 
*Twill be found like a jewel Hbeside — 

— As cold and as callous within. 
But the beauties of wisdom and worth 

Are in modest apparel enroUM; 
Yet when Tenderness summons them forth 

They shine like a circle of gold. 

May the hop'd day of happiness haste 

When our joys like the circle shall he. 
When the future shall vie with the past^ 

And thou take a circle from me; 
Content in our cot shall be found. 

Our fife Love and Friendship enfold. 
And each year, as it dances around. 

Shall to us be a circle of gold. 



THE 

3BroocJ|. 

TO THE SAME. 

Each youth before he leaves his friends 

The battle's bray to prove. 
Some tributary token sends 

Of friendship or of love. 

A brooch the faulchion's form that bearsr 

The love-sick soldier leaves ; 
The sailor's lass an anchor wears,. 

While he the battle braves.. 



( 166 ) 
But I no martial symbol send 

To wake the woeful sigh : 
The gifts of Love should never lend 

A pang to Memory. 

Then on thy heauteous bosom bear 

This little lyre from me; 
And let no sad suggestions tear 

That seat of harmony. 

For I, where'er I chance to roam. 

Shall ever fearless fight; 
The thought that thou art safe at home 

Puts ev'ry fear to flight. 

Let Memory from this lyre I send 

A cheering flame derive; 
And Hope (the lover's constant friend) 

Preserve that flame alive. 

Yet grieve not should I fall, my love. 

Nor feel a moment's pain. 
For, trust me, there's a hand above 

Shall string my lyre again* 



J^asftotal €pfetle. 

My dearest Ella, sweetest maid. 

To me the sweetest far. 
In poor and humble verse array'd. 

Receive thy Coriii's pray'r. 

Ah leave, ah leave that busy scene 
Where cares and cankers dwell; 

A noble mind can ne'er disdain 
To view a village cell. 

'Mid flowery vales with herbage green. 

And hills with verdure crownM, 
My little lovely cot is seen. 
By woods encircled round. 



C 1^ ) 

My cot is "elegantly neat/^ 

Nor pomp nor poverty; 
But peace and happiness await, 

ReservM for Love and thee. 

Then leave, ah leave the guilty town, 
And still more guilty crew;. 

And come and wear the rustic gown. 
And hat of harvest hue. 

Let wealthy lords in grandeur great 
In robes and rubies shine; 

Jn simple humble habit neat 
Be love and Ella mine. 

Vd rather live in humble state. 
And call that state my own. 

Than be dependant on the great. 
And subject to their frown. 

Then come, my love, with Corin live 
In sweets that never cloy: 

What would a mighty monarch give 
To join the rural joy ! 



( 169 ) 
Each mom when on the blushing sky 

The sun begins to peer. 
The lark, that quiv'ring carols high. 

Shall break upon thine ear. 

Together then we'll stray along 
Thro* brakes of woodbine sweet, 

Whfre many a bird with many a song 
Thee and the morning greet. 

I'll lead thee thro' a flowery vale. 
Where purple violets grow; 

And tell thee many a pleasing tale. 
And many a landscape shew. 

With rustic reed I'll pipe a strain. 
And strive to please thee well; 

For Tm allowed by ev'ry swain 
In piping to excel. 

At noon, when glistening gos'mers lie. 

And sultry gleams invade. 
We'll hear the busy bustling fly 

That hums beneath the shade. 



! 



( 170 ) 
At eve we'll court the bosky bourne^ 

Where cooling breezes breathe. 
And see the shepherd's lad return 

Shrill whist'ling o'er the heath. 

At night (when lore of legends tire) 
The minstrel's task be mine; 

My skill to touch the trembling wire 
Shall vie with all — but thine. 

Thus morning, ev'ning, noon, and night. 

Shall please alike the mind; 
For they that study Nature right 

"Will endless pleasure find. 

The mightiest work Creation shews 

Is dull to Folly's sight: 
But he that God and Nature knows 

Finds wonders in a mite. 

Then hither, dearest love, repair. 

Nor Cor in' s vote decline. 
For night and morn still is his pray'r — 

— Be love and Ella mine. 



( 171 ) 

What if my humbie village bed 

No costly silk affords; 
Far sweeter rest awaits my head 

Tharf many a mighty lorcVs. 

Believe me, love, I'd rather holcj 

An humble honest heart. 
Than strut in gems and guilty gold 

To act a faithless part. 

Tve walk'd each gay assembly round. 

In courtly vesture drest; 
But rural life I've ever found 

The sweetest and the best. 

In outward grace and manners rude, 
No boasted charms are mine; 

But trust me, love, my heart is good. 
Because that heart is thine. 

Beneath the walnut's shabby shell 

A luscious kernel lies ; 
But mark what poisonous juices swell 

The poppy's painted dyes ! 



( 172 ) 

Then let this truth thy hosom fill. 
With which I now conclude; — 

That— all that's ugly is not ill. 
Nor all that's gaudy good. 



THE 



38ee. 



IMITATED FROM THE GREEK OF THEOCRITUS. 



Tov KXsTrrav nor £§wrct &c. Idyl. 19, 



I 



Clara, beautiful and young. 

Straying once the woods among. 

By a little bee was stung* 

She cried, and danc'd, and beat the ground. 

And pressed and suck'd the smarting wound. 

The nymph at length her lover spies. 

And, sobbing, thus in anguish cries: — 

"Is it not strange that little bees 
" Should make such mighty wounds as these!" 

The lover smil'd with downcast eyes, 
A;]d, sweetly whispering, thus replies: — 



( 174 ) 

" Thou, my love, art like the bee, 
" Sweets and stings unite in thee; 
" Thou art' small, but well I know 
" Thv wounds, sweet nymph, are seldom so.** 



I 



THE 



^Barometer : 

OR 

FAIR AND CHANGEABLE: 

*TlS hard, (the fair Amelia cried) 
The weather ne'er will please us; 

I fear to-day we cannot ride 
To Hagley or The Leasoives : 

I looked at the Barometer, 

And sorry am to say 
That, tho' Hwas yesterday at fair, 

'Tis changeable to-day. 

Ne'er mind it^ love, (I then replied) 
Nor grieve at what is common. 

Alike is all thaVs fair heside. 
Nay — not exempting woman. 



( 176 } 

Then wonder not, nor think it rare, 

(Pve found it to my sorrow) 
That what to-day has promisM fair. 

Has changed before to-morrow. 

Ah me! — (yet surely such things are 

Not only as to weather) 
— 'Tis pity changeable and fair 

A.Y& plac'd so near together! 

You men (she cried) e'er do us wrong. 
Yet think not now to cheat me. 

For trust me' friend, while Pve a tongu« 
No Barrister shall beat me. 

Then calling all her conq'rours forth. 

As little nymphs know how. 
And looking such an angry oath,. 

Exclaim' d — I have you now;;, 

While men, as women's atmosphere. 

Are fickle as a feather. 
Sure we, as their Barometer, 

May vary with the weather. 



( 177 ) 

But ah! would'st thou but cease to range>. 

And take me to thy care. 
My heart from thee should never change. 

But prove for e\er fair. 

She smil'd^ — and lookM for my reply, 
— j3he knew I car'd for no man: 

Alack ! how hard it is ( thought I ) 
To argue with a woman ! 



TO THOMAS YATES, 



WITH A 



TN ONE VOLUME. 

The farther, Yates, from thee I go. 
My friendship warms with stronger glow; 
Like that lone star that evening graces 
Shines brighter as the dark encreases* 

As late I joinM the husy press 
Of London's weedy wilderness, 
I ponderM doubting what to send 
By way of trifle to my friend; 
Not to repay him half his due. 
For that — a trifle cannot do; 



J 



( 179 ) 
But j.iist to give a friendly item 
That, if 1 could, I would requite him. 
The fittest present I could find 
Was Shakspeare — mirror for the mind. 
Then take this mental mirror true, 
'Tis what you need not blush to view. 



\Vithin this little compass lies 
Ail that's happy, good, and wise. 
Where souls, attun'd to feeling, borrow 
Smiles of Mirth, and tears of Sorrow. 
Here thou may'st thy fancy fit 
With tearful tales, or waggish wit; 
Or mark in his exalted lay 
How earthly grandeur melts away. 



Mighty master of the heart. 

What wonders does thy page impart! 

Persuades the breast, instructs the mind. 
At once to know and love mankind; 



{ IBO ) 

Thy strains, of noble souls the food, 
€an make us happy, wise, and goodj 
For lessons in thy numbers lie 
How to live, and how to die. 



i 



Mp JSojcen Sotoetr. 

I love my little boxett bower 
Fringed with April's early flower; 
On it's leaves of glossy green 
The climbing sunbeams shed their sheen; 
Cool it'« shade, it's shelter warm. 
In summer's heat, or winter's storm; 
The social and the lonely hour 
Endear my little boxen bow'r. 

Within my little boxen bow'r 
With friends I fill the social hour; 
Or, wanting them, the feats unfold 
That bards of Greece and Rome have told; 
Or prove no meaner magic reigns 
la Britain's more endearing strains : 



( 182 ) 

Contentment sheds her snnny shower 
Around my little boxen bower. 

Should I leave my boxen bowfel" 
Panting up the paths of Power, 
PufFd with empty pomp of Pride, 
Blind Ambition for my guide, 
Ev'n in Splendour^s gaudy glare, 
CushionM on the couch of Care, 
Might I not bewail the hour 
I left my little boxen bow'r? 



THE 



ISlacfecap* 



Woodland warbler, clear and strong, 
1 joy to hear thy early song, 
Destending large thy little throat 
To swell thy loud melodious note^ 
Leaving, desultory guest j 
On some low briar thy flimsy nest. 
To carol the green woods among, 
In happy extacy of song ; 
How is it that I never see 
The poet's praise bestow'd on thee? 

O emblem thou of poet true ! 
He ought to give thee honour due. 
Because, like him, in forest green 
Retir'd, thou lov'st to sing unseen; 



( 184 ) 
By nature delicate and shy. 
Avoiding Folly's vacant eye j 
And there thy note, neglected bird> 
Is lost, unnoticed or unheard. 
Though the pert finch of golden pluraer 
May twitter in each lady's room ; 
Thy body brown, and pole so black, 
Grace both in form and feathers lackj; 
Like his, thy song's unheeded past, 
WhcB 01 that songf is.— all thou hasli 



TO 

You told Hie, Tom, in sportive spite, 
Tho* of the world I speak and write 

1 do but little know it: 
And when for my advice you sue*d, 
Altho^ 1 gave the best I could. 

You sneer'd, and calPd me- — Pott ! 



Then since, my friend, you hold so light 
Both what 1 think, and what I write. 

From me no more you scan shall j 
1^11 drop my reason and my rhyme. 
And try to make my friendship chime 

With something more substantial. 



( 186 ) 

But ere my Pegasus I quit. 
This last offence you must permit, 

Tho* muddy rhymes I spatter; 
And tho^ I give advice and verse. 
Believe me, neither I rehearse 

To spite you or to flatter. 

The wide world educated you. 
And plac'd before you what men do^ 
Thence shines your real knowledge 
But mine is mere reflected light, 
ObtainM by reading what men write, 
.And that within a College. 

Then by that sense you ever shew, 
(Sense, to your arrowM wit the bow) 

You ought to be apprized 
That tapers howsoever small 
Giving of light their little all 

Should not be quite despised. 



{ 187 ) 

The Poets too (and oh! for shame I 
My hurahle with their honoured namt 

Your wicked wit combines) 
They're not the only folks by far 
Who teach to plow and sow the air. 

And bore the s6a far mines* 

Of Theory the beatfen road 

By you> and me, and all is trodc. 

Nor ruts nor hillocks dreading; 
But Practice-path, tho* plainly seen. 
Like garden-walks all smooth and green; 

Is little marked by treading. 

Oh! may I take advice myself! 

May worms eat Shakspeare on my shelf! 

If e*er again I offer 
To give you verses or advice. 
But pay my little sacrifice 

From more substantial coffer. 



{ 188 ) 
Tliere's many a friend, whose tender part 
Thus wounded with a wit-shot dart. 
Would turn their backs upon ye; 
But trust me, Tom, such friends as ihosa 
More dangerous are than honest foes. 
And no such friend is 

Johnny. 



Inscribed in Old English characters, on a root-seat €^ 
NURSERT, WESTFELTON. 

come not. to th^se peacefulle bowres 

Chagrined at humane follie; 
Nor censure here my harmlesse houres 

Of blisefulle melancholie. 

For if' ye spurne the ioyes serene: 

From solitude accruing, 
Mixe with the busie world againe* 

Ol^ wealthe or fame^ pursuinge. 

But quarreUe not with humane-kiude 

For little faulted ofFendinge; 
Better to beare with what ye finde. 

Than marre it in the mendinge. 

Soe shall ye walke eche crowded conrte 

And smile at humane foUie; 
Or pleas'd, like mee, to bowres resorte^. 

And feastQ on melanchgli^,^ 



INSCRIBED IN A 



Cell 



J^iscovered in the Town-walls of Shrewsbury^ 

IN THE GARDEN OF MR. PARKES. 

teche mee to foregoe this worldis carcy 
The vauntinge vanities of humane-kindia; 

Yet teche mee to forgive eche errour there. 

That mine elsewhere may like forgivenesse finde. 

This mossie cell, for toile and tumult mayde. 
When hostile arms oppos'd Salopians towres. 

Is nowe to mee the sweete and sacred shade 
Of peacefulle thoughtes in solitarie houres. 

May thus my hearte, disturb'd by manie a storme, 
Eche foe to Love-of-humane-kinde repelle; 

Soe shall Contente lifers latest ev'ning warme. 
Like settinge sun-beams warme this westerne celle. . 

And may I, when life lingers in the weste, 
Looke backe serenelie on this sun-gilt shore ; 

Then stretche my saile to where the wearie reste, 
Wliere toile and tumult vexe the minde no more. 



i 



Brought a seedling from the Leasowes, August, 1806, 

Young offspring of an aged tree 

That erst o'er Shentone rear'd it's head. 
That wavM in wild luxuriance free. 

And deck'd it's boughs with berries red, 
O grace my little grove retired. 

As he. of Friendship gracM the sphere ; 
So shalt thou be of Taste admir'd,. 

So shalt thou stand to Memory dear. 

Hereafter 'neath thy sable shade 

To him the votive urn TU raise ; 
Nor shall trim Folly's ruthless blade 

E'er dare to clip thy graceful sprays. 
And here shall bards unborn recline 

To pay to him the tribute due; 
And genius shall be proud to shine 

Beneath the shade of Shenstone's yew. 



( m ) 

^titj yew-tree, if at eve or dawn 

Hither some nymph should haply tum. 
And wail of Love to HQav'n withdrawn. 

Or ^f©^ unvalued Friendship mourn; 
Bid her to yonder cot repair 

Where willows weep and flowerets twine; 
With mine her tale of Woe compare> 

And mix her melting tears with mine. 

There mnsic soft to Shenstone's strain 

Shall join for us her soothing powers; 
Nor shall his woes be feung in vain 

If they but steal a pang from ours. 
Departed bard I A friendly part 

Has he in plaintive numbers shewn,— 
—To ease another's aching heart 

He sung the son*ows of his owa. 



4 



Bom- 



( Scotch Air. — Pinkey hoose. ) 

Near Pinkey hoose aboon the brae 

'Mang birks and osiers slender^ 
In hawthorn-daj^ s I love to stray. 

And pipe my wild notes tender; 
But little boots the gowan'd plain 

Unless my lassie's near me; 
And sadly flows my sweetest strain 

Unless she's there to hear me. 

O Nature, keep thy nectcir'd cup 

Gin I alane maun take it. 
For sweeter far's a cozie drop 

AVhen those we love partake it. 
Then, lassie, seek yon hawthorns gay. 

And hear my wild notes tender. 
Near Pinkey hoose aboon the brae, 

'Mang birks and osiers slender. 



ong. 



(Air. — Peggy Baivn.) 

Why should I sigh ? The maid I love 

Declares she loves me true; 
In constancy she peers the dove. 

And oh ! in beauty too : 
On me'her eyes enamoured roll. 

Her lips in dimples play; 
Yet sad am I, and sick at soul. 

For oh, she^s far away. 

Why should I sigh? The maiden mine 

Nor scornful is, nor coy; 
Each morrow brings her loving line 

To make my bosom joy; 
The maiden mine, she loves me. well. 

And bids my heart be gay; 
Yet sighs my pensive bosom swell. 

Because she's far away. 



( 195 ) 

Why should I sigh? Sweet Spring is here. 
And blithe each bird and flow'r 

And pleasM I sit, my soul to cheer. 
Within her favorite bow'r; 

Her lyre I take, and fain rehearse 
The song she lovM to play; 

But still the burden of each verse 

, Is, oh she^s far away. 



if 



THE 

Thou yellow bunch with berries white. 

By juice of neighbour nourishM, 
'Tis said in Druid's holy rite 

Thy brittle branches flourished. 
Found on the mossy arms of oak 

With golden blade they cut thee; 
And, as the mystic words they spoke. 

On sacred pile they put thee. 

But Druid rites are over now. 

Yet never be thou missing ; 
I'll sacred hold thy hallowM bough. 

Because it sanction's kissing; 
Thy branches o'er my couch I'll twine. 

And round my brows I'll wreathe them. 
And rites, than Druid's more divine, 

I'll celebrate beneath them. 



M!iEir 



( 197 ) 

Ah ! what's the luscious lip to me, 

Tho* dews of nectar tip it ? 
Unless I'm privilegeM by thee, 

Alas ! T dare not sip it. 
Then while the Gorse, with golden blow, 

Shall kissing keep in fashion. 
Be thou at hand, O Missleloe, 

And help the harmless passion. 

But so it haps, if one is near. 

The other's out of season; 
Or if the other should be there. 

To touch it would be treason. 
Ye pretty plants! admir'd of me; 

Oh, by ye both I swear it. 
Whene'er the one of ye I see, 

I wish the other near it ! 



OSWESTRY SCHOOL. 

Alone I love to haunt, fair Oswestry, 

The woods aad hills that bosom thee around. 
Sprinkling my lyre of guideless minstrelsey 

With notes that, like thy rills, unheeded sound. 
Trickling at times all wild along. 
Lush herbs and mossy stones among. 
Then smioothly gliding o*er the meadow ground, 
^Till in some roaring torrent tossed. 
Their little melody is lost; 
Or borne to some deep river^s muddy shore. 

Is heard no more. 

Yet can I not restrain the lay. 

For ah, this lonely scene 
Minds me of many a distant day. 

And many a time between. 



( 1S9 ) 
Since here I first at early age 
Began to con the column'd page. 
A little waddling trowser'd lad 

1 came, and tedious toiPd 
O'er leaves in yellow canvass clad. 

Leaves corner- curPd and soiPd : 
And hid the bitten apple, half-afraid, 
FlushM at the noise the munching made. 

I say I love to stray alone. 

For school-companions all are gone; 

Far countries some to see ; 
In Fortune's dome some refuge find; 
Wealth's dusty ways while others wind; 
And some in Fame's bright noon reclin'd. 

Care little now for me. 
And how to strangers can I tell 
The joys that now my bosom swell 

To trade my tree-cut name? 
To them, alas, 'twill only shew 
That 1 was twice ten years ago 

A candidate for fame; 

And warn me would the waggish throng 
To trust to trees, and not to song. 



( 200 ) 

And many a flower of purest dye 

That openM in that garden then. 
Long since has closM it^s little eye, 

Unplanted in the fields of men. 
Fair snowdrops they, that early fall 

In the young lap of April gay. 
Nor live to see the glories tall 

That flourish in the train of May. 

Wotless how many a blooming head 

May grace the ground when they are dead. 

And He* that trained our tender stem 
Now sleeps, good man, the long long sleep with them. 

I then 'mid proud Salopians towers 

Lightly my little pinnace plied 
O'er Ovid's river, bank'd with bowers. 
Or push'd it's more invigour'd powers 

Through Virgil's graceful tide; 
'Till Fancy loos' d the cables of controul. 
And, launch'd at large, I felt th' astonish'd soul 
High on the roaring surge of Homer's ocean roll. 

* Revd. Eusebius Edwards. 



Jl 



( 201 ) 
Some, firM with hot mis-guiding light. 
Like northern flakes that fret the night, 

False-glory^s meteor glare. 
Hurried afar to human fight. 
In fields that blasts of evil blight. 
To do the work of hell, the butcher^work of war. 
Such have afflicted fathers mourn'd. 

Such have applauding senates praisM, 
Their bones in holy house inurnM, 

And high the stately stone have raisM. 

O give me but to trace my name 

The lowest on Parnassus' base. 
With pencil dipp'd in Avon's stream. 

Though faint and feeble be the trace. 
At death Til deem it higher grace 

Than tomb with trophied honours clad. 
Though aislM in Abbey's hallo wM place. 

With all that Sculpture's art can add. 

So pray'd my young heart, then all akin 

To the numbers wild and free 
That here did my boyish bosom win. 
As I read of the feats of the bold Robin, 

All under the green-wood tree. 



( 202 ) 

Nor lovM I less in simple dress 

The tender verse that ran 
Of her that won an earlis son. 
And him the banish' d man. 
With fev'rish thirst of rhyme inflamM 
I oft the quaint acrostic framM; 
Or spread the jingling riddle^s maze 
To catch a comrade's partial praise. 

Nor did my stolen leisure lose 
On him the Mariner to muse. 
Who, far from home's endearing smile. 
Dwelt on the solitary isle. 

And oft I own'd the despot reign 
Of high Romance's giant strain, 
Bewitch'd by all the spells that lie 
In storied nights of Araby. 

No wonder that to minds like mine 
Such fancies then seem'd wond'rous fine : 
For he, the rude untravel'd wight. 
That stares at Breidden's craggy height, 
Weets not to what superior skies 
The mightier Alps or Andes rise : 



( 203 ) 

Nor dreamM I in those early days 
Of Hamlets or of Odysseys. 

Since then how varied scenes Fve seen 1 

And dearer learning bought; 

Sipp'd at the mingled cups of men. 

Ah cups, not always found, I ween. 

So pure as then I thought. 

Yet not so muddy is the draught 

But it may be refined. 

And ev^n Lifers bitterest cup be quafPd 

A medicine for the mind. 

And that dull canting fool, I wis. 

That finds on earth no real bliss. 

Rails at the cup himself hath mixM amiss. 

Nature for him no blessings showers. 

With spleen his very soul he sours. 
— He needs not seek a scene like this. 

Ye flowery vales, ye woody bills. 
Thou lengthening prospect wide! 
With Gratitude my bosom fills; 
And Joy's overflowing tide. 



( 204 ) 

To think that, insect though I be. 

Yet ev^n to me is given 
To con this fair creation free 
From insects of a less degree 
To orbs that roll in heaven; 
Yea, to the fixed fires the mind may soar 
That freck night's azure arch and look on millions more. I 

Yet here on this terrestrial spot 

Enough of good is given 
To bid us bless our humble lot. 

And plume our souls for Heaven. | 

If aught Devotion can bestow. 
And Love-of-man and all below. 
'Twas this that led a Newton's soul 
Beyond the starry way to roll. 
And that, of>Heav'n's own fire a part, 
Enshrin'd itself in Howard's heart. 
And fell, when he to God was gone^ 
On him, the Man of Whittington. 



Thou, sainted Memory, art mine. 
And smiling Hope, of birth divine. 



( 203 ) 

Ev'n now I feel your mingled pow^r, 
Ev'n in this solitary hour. 

Yon church that lofty limes half hide. 
High pinnacled in Gothic pride, , 
The chime the qiiarter'd hour that tells 
Light touch' d on three discordant bells. 
Nay all I hear, and all I see. 
And all I think has charms for me. 

I mark tlie tow'r's ill-measurM chimes. 
And thiiik on childhood's truant times. 
For still the self-same tune is troll'd, 
** My lodging^s on the ground so cold.*' 
Then squalling rapid ps^ss the pile 
A flight of wheeling swifts the while. 
Or crevic'd in some cornice rough 
Chaffers the pert and prattling chough. 
And sooth, these sounds, tho' harsh to hear. 
At times are music to my ear. 

They tell of times that long are gone^ 
They speak of deeds that long are done. 
And musing Memory loves to dwell 
Ou every trifle that they tell. 



( 206 ) 

For taintless times and fraudless deeds 
Are of Life's loveliest tree Ihe seeds. 
Of which on every branch it rears 
Fond Memory- pours her pleasing tears. 
And if His lopp'd by Fortune's shafts 
Sweet Hope her cyons there engrafts, 
While on the Heav'n-aspiring shoot 
Ripens the everlasting fruit. 



WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY 

What have I been doing ? 

Blitbe was the board, and festive were the hours 

When many a friend regal'd my natal day; 
And Mirth and Music joinM their witching pow'rs 

To make the very gloom of Winter gay: 
When I by chance beneath the nipping ray 

Of the cold moon, that glisteuM keen and clear, 
Indulg'd at eve a momentary stray. 

The Spirit of my birth, with voice severe. 
Yet looks serenely sweet addressed my listening ear ; 



( -208 ) 

Hold, Yoiitli, a moment hold, nor yet return 

AVhere sweet For^^etfulness thy mind decoys. 

From rathe Rememb'rance one true maxim learn, 

— One thoughtless step Lifers journey oft alloys; 
Put off from hence the soft indulgent )ojs. 

The dream of youth that leads to waking woe, 
Fond scenes of love, and rhymes, and idle toys. 

And all that youth and playful fancies shew. 
— Poor is the resets fruit tho' sweet it's blossoms blow. 



Since first thy little infant steps I view'd 

Full twice ten times the verdure's come and flown; 
Yet not in vain these trees their bloom renew'd, 

— Full twice ten times the useful fruits have grown ^ 

Then what kast thou in all these seasons done ? 

Does Truth expand while Science cloathes thy mind? 

Brin^'st thou from Oxford's pageant porch, alone 

A tufted cap, and hood '' that droops behind !" 

With sleeves of fluttering silk replete with empty wind? 



( 209 ) 

Was it for this by Severn's circling stream 

I taught thy youth to cull the fairest flow'rs ? 
Was it for this I oft to Isis came 

And cheerM thy wand' ring solitary hours? 
But now my wing with sad reluctance cours 

To see thy youth in soft enjoyment flown; 
To see neglected all thy native pow'rs. 

And twice ten years of youthful vigour gone. 
Say, in these years of prime — what hast thou done? 

Hast thou aright the league of God explorM 
That Nature's comments on her Author shew? 

Hast thou in op'ning herbs and minerals por'd 
Where soothings soft for man's afflictions grow ? 

Do'st thou of Laws the nice distinction know. 
To hold 'twixt man and man the scales of right ? 

Can'st thou give Truth in Eloquence to flow. 
And wrest oppression from tyrannic might ? — 
— I sigh'd. — The Spirit frown'd — and sighing 
took her fligrht. 



CANTICYM 

eui Anglice ingressus 
*' O Nancy wilt thou gang wi' me — ^* 

Latlne redditum, 

Anna, ! nonne tremes mecum procul ire per agros^ 

Deliciasque urbis linquere, nonnc tremes? 
Parva dorausne tibi viritli sub rupe placebit? 

Te Deque lassabit rustica vita rudis? 
Quo iieque Golcondse spoliis gemmata nitebis. 

Quo neque vestis erit murice tincta tibi? 
Linquere nonne gemes, virgo charissima, sedes 

Quo pulchras inter puichrior ipsa fores? 

Ciim procul a choreis, Iseta procul urbe relicta, 
Festum non cupies turn revocare diem ? 

Tune potes so] is fervorem ferre ftirentis. 
Tune potes rigidse frigora sseva nivis ? 



( 211 ) 

Quam queat (heu ! Jictu miseriim) tua blandula forma, 
Quam pectus tenerum taiita pericla pati? 

Ah ! cupiesne redire domosqiie revisere dulces 
Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores? 

E,stne fidelis amor tibi tantus, amabilis Anna, 

Extremas mecura sortis adire vices? 
Sique onerosa ruat clades, mea fida puella, 

Nonne dolebis onus triste levare meum ? 
Die, veniente gravi cruciata per ossa dolore. 

Tune fovebis, amans, membra calore mihi? 
Pectore nee memori lugebis festa relicta. 

Quo pulciiras inter pulchrior ipsa fores? 

Cum moribundus ero, amplexus properatque supremus. 

Tune dabis lacrymans basia chara mihi? 
Atque oculos dextra tremulos mulcebis amata, 

Dulceque sedabis tristia tela necis ? 
Et super exanimum lacrymas spargesne cadaver, 

Singultansque feres serta caduca manu ? 
Turn neque prseteritos lugebis in urbe lepores. 

Quo pulchras inter pulchrior ipsa fores ? 



RESPONSIO, 

per amicum. 

Ljeta tibi, Gulielme, comes nihil ire recusam. 

Qua fera fata trahant, te duce, Iseta sequar: 
Tecta casae deserta colam modo compos amantis, 

Muta mihi tecum gaudia sylva feret. 
Rustica si vestis Gulielmo pluris habetur, 

Anna cupit serum vellera nulla sibi. 
Te sine magnificseque urbis mihi munera sordent, 

Et prae te sordent regia dona mihi. 

Laeta sequar, dilecte virum, qua previus ibis, 

Taedia nee capient me meminisse domum : 
Sell propriore rota me Sirius urget iniquus, 

Sive furit Boreas, ingeminatque minas. 
Tu modo sis semper praesens mihi, nulla timebo 

Quid mihi ferre potest saevior ira Dei; 
Temnere \c\ summos potero secura dolores, 

rim tua per terras, te duce, fata sequar. 



\ 



( 213 ) 

Finge, age, te gravibus, dirum precor omen abesto ! 

Impiicitum vitos grande dolere malis; 
Suppositus capiti prohibet languere lacertus. 

Cantatas ciiras sopit et Anna tibi. 
Quae tibi sollicito suspensa assidat amore. 

Hand milii, si qua fides, gemula martis erit: 
Nee prius abscedam, victrix quam muneris almi. 

Nil nobis, qiiod te pluris habemus, adest. 

Si tibi afata maniis, quod Dii proliibete, nocentes 

Admoveant, miserum ! quid mihi mentis erit ? 
Namque pii minime poterunt dcpingere fletus, 

Sollicitam qui me perget habere dolor. 
Mors autem Stygias ciim te vocet atra sub umbras. 

Me morti tradam promptior ipsa sequi : 
Et morihuuda precar, quo.sint sua gaudia morti, 

Contiguam poni me, Gulielme, tibi. 



SOMNIVM AMANTIS. 

'* Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum, 

" Ter frustra comprensa manus efFugit imago, 

*» Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno.'* 

Chara mihi apparuit per noctem forma Marise, 

Fronte decor micuit, risu& in ore fuit: 
Dulcc lyram digitis niveis percussit eburnam> 

Dulcior at cecinit vocibus ipsa simul. 
Alba fuit Testis (pectus louge albius) illi, 

Luxerunt gemmae, frontis at astra magis. 
Vidi dum speciem tarn divam tamque venustam^ 

Flagranti tumuit pectus amore mihi, 
Ridentes toties in me direxit ocellos. 

Ah ! quoties haesit corde sagitta meo. 
Formam dum miror, miror dum musica verba. 

Parvus perrumpit somnia grata culex : 
O iuimice culex! — citharaeque melosque silescunt, 

Occurritque oculis nulla Maria meis. 



( 213 ) 

Quantum me prsesens tam diva beavit imago. 

Tantum nunc absens saucia corda secat. 
Ah ! modo Isetus eram, Divum felicior ullo. 

At nunc me miserum pessimus angor habeft. 
Jam scio quam paulum distant dolor atque voluptas, 

Quodque haec hora levat proxima forte premat. 



INSCRIPTION 

For an Urn to Linn3eus, under a Lime-tree, in the 
, grounds of John Clavering Wood, Esq. 
of Marsh Hall, Salop.' 

LINNiEVS 

DE RE SCRIBIT QVAQVE 

BREVITER COPIOSE. 

NATVR.E 

SPISSVS FIDVS CLARVS 

INTERPRES. 

NOTA VERVS, 

AYDITA CAVTVS, 

COGITATA MODESTVS. 

VTILE MINIME IGNORAVIT, 

NECNON DVLCI MISCVIT. 

LATTICE SPARTANVS. 

EST LiNN^VS. ■ 

TALI ET TANTO CORDI 

MORTVI VRNAM, 

VIVENTI SE 

LVBENS VOVEAT 

I. c. w. 



INSCRIPTION 

On a root-seat, under a large Pilrple-BeecU, 
dedicated to Thomas Yates, at Nursery, Westfelton. 

AMICITIiE ET T. Y. 

SELLVLAM HANC, 

ET 

QVA TEGERIS ARBOREM, 

SACRAS ESSE 

VOLUIT 

J. F. M. D. 



M^pmtsi, 



PART III. 

Humotottsf. 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 

Some rhyme (vain thought ! ) for needfu' cash ; 

Some rhyme to couU the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

J thyme for Jun, 

hvnaa. 



THE 
SEEKING A 

ml 

A TALE. 

Before I enter on my story. 
Good ^ Readers, I must first implore ye 
T' observe I serve this saucy dish up 
To neither deacon, priest, nor bishop. 
To ev^ry mind it must be plain 
That His the old popish priests I mean. 
Let not my story be mistaken 
By English bishop, priest, or deacon. 
For they who wince when nothing hits 'era 
Appear to ^' take the cap that fits 'em/' 



( 222 ) 

A Lawyer once, as legenas tell us^ 
For his profession warmly jealous 
That they no sainted patron boasted 
-Of whores enshrinM, or martyrs roasted. 
Of all the black and bloody number 
Whose names our calendars encumber, 
Hesolv'd unto the Pope t' apply, 

A patron there to beg or buy: 

He put his gown, and ruffles fair on. 
His band, and better head of hair on; 
But, lest his eloquence should flag. 
He stor'd within a yellow bag 
Round arguments, that well he kne\r 
Would more than Law or Language do; 
And. such as always should be pleaded 
When parsons are to be persuaded. 

And now, where Poverty's petition 
Pleads long in vain to get admission. 
Our lawyer took a method shorter. 
For trying on the honest porter 
One of his arguments, it straight 
Unbarr'd to him the sacred gate. 



( 2^3 ) 

So (as I've somewhere heard or read) 
A certain Trojan took hi*s head 
To see the DeviPs parliament. 
And to the gates of Hell he went. 
Where 'till this time he might have tarried 
Had not the witch before him carried 
A golden bough: perhaps this fact is 
The precedent of modern practice. 
For gold is still the ticket to 
The courts above and courts below : 
Nay, some maintain that this same bough 
To maces is converted now. 
And borne in church and state, to shew ^ 
Where those who follow it are to go. 

Before his Holiness arriving 
Our lawyer's now his speech contriving. 
Pulls up his gown, puts straight his tails, 
Twistiug a red-tape round his nails. 
His fingers tabbering, smooths his band. 
His long sleeve fumbling in his hand; 
Then hemming — simpering — bowing — rises ; 
Like other counsel do at 'ssizes." 



)i 






( 224 ) 

For he the reason had discerned 
Why councellors are called " the learned ;" 
And 'tis because our pleading men are all 
Like that old Greek attorney-general. 
Who (mumbling in his mouth a jackstone)^ 
Maintain^ that Eloquence's knack shone ^ 
In nought but " action, action, action, 

Methinks our modern men of fees 
Have heard of this Demosthenes. 

Our lawyer bended to the Pope, and 
Thus his urgent case he openM: 

" O thou that art St. Peter's curate, 
" Let not thy bosom prove obdurate, 
" But grant my suit, that neither wishes 
'•' The scrapings of your loaves or fishes, 
" Nor do I beg, however humble, 
" The crumbs that from your table tumble; 
" The boon I ask to glad my heart with 
" Is what the veriest priest may part with, 
" For such a trifling blessing is it 
*' That when 'tis giv'n you will not miss it. 



( 225 ) 

" For all the object of my plaint 
" Is, to obtain a patron saint. 

*' I see not why our honest labours 
^' Should not be noticM like our neighbour*. 

" Tn case of need there^s no physician 
" But good St. Luke grants his petition. 
*' Death-warrants — pshaw — I mean prescriptions 
*' Are si gnM beneath his benedictions. 

" Divines have Peter, Paul, and John, 
''* And all the rest to call upon. 

** The cobler drives nor peg nor his pin 
" Without a pray'r to good St, Crispin. 

" I can make good by cases cited 
" How poor we lawyers are requited; 
*' We have no saint in heav'n to shew 
'* The good deeds that ou earth we do; 
*' (Tho some folks think ^twere need we had one 
" To intercede for many a bad one.) 
" We care not what his rank or name is, 
*' A lawyer never should be squemish, 
'' Tho' if to chuse I am permitted, 
" rU name one to our calling fitted. 



{ 226 ■) 

" The great St. Michael, saint renownM, 

^' Who pinn'd the Devil in the pounds 

" From whence (O think it not uncommon) 

" He was replevied by a woman. 

" This saint then let the lawyers greet, 

^' Who beat down Satan at his feet. 

'' So may your holy order be 
" As leeches to the laity, 
*' Ye know th^ effects of too much blood, 
" And kindly suck it for our good. 
" So may your holy order stand 
'* The glow-worms of each gloomy land; 
" So may your lights lost sheep allure, 
*' Like lanthorns of the marshy moor ; 
*' So may ye feast on all thats nice, 
" And pardons fetch their highest price; 
" So may ye after death inherit 
*' The meed that most becomes your merit." 

Thus spoke the Lawyer, bending low; 
The oily Pope began to blow. 
For he in size might safely mock 
The knight who fought by Shrewsbury clock;' 



( 227 ) 

On couch his listless body lolling-, 
" His eyes in a fine frenzy rolling" 
Glanc'd, from within their fiery sockets. 
From lawyer^s wig to lawyer's pockets 5 
And, judging only by his cloathes, 
(Like them whose all depends on those) 
Concluded from his plain apparel 
He was a worthless empty barrel. 
And, pennyless because he g\iessM him. 
With haughty look he thus addressM him: 

" Thou little limb of litigation, 
" Thou art the DeviPs near relation, 
*' Such impudence I never saw here, 
*' But impudence becomes a lawyer j 
" A lawyer too a saint requiring, 
*•' But weeds will ever be aspiring, 
" Return, man, to thy long-rob'd brothers, 
'* Our saints are all engaged to others." 

While yet he spoke with many a frown^ 
The lawyer's hand, beneath his gown. 
His yellow bag from pocket took, 
Ajid loud the jingling shiners shook. 



( 228 ) 

O golden tones! liow great your force is. 
How passion-soothing your discourse is! 
Were not the wond^rous lyres of old 
That charmM the beasts all struug with gold? 
Could he^ as Pve heard scholars tell. 
That fool who fetch'd his wife from hell. 
Could he (I say) have done such things 
By twanging catgut fiddlestrings ! 

Oh no it was with golden tones 

He movM the beasts, the stocks, and stone*. 

It must be true for at this hour 

The lawyer has revived their pow'r. 
Nor do they leave him in the lurch. 

But move a pillar of the church: 

For as the lawyer's musjc jingled. 

The Pope*s soft heart with pleasure tingled. 

This very fact explains the riddle 
'Why after-poets prais'd the fiddle, 
(The fiddle here, observe, I go to 

Like Rhetoricians, pars pro toto.) 

And why the fiddle they confessed 

Had " charms to soothe a savage breast" 



n 



I 



( 229 ) 

What miracles may we not hope 

Since music " bends a knotty" Pope ^ 

And by its magic pow'r we find 
The true "affections of his mind/' 
His mind, made up of proper soils 
" For treasons^ stratagems^ and spoils." 

Now as the bag came forth to view. 
Quite mild and aSIible he grew. 
But when ^twas on the t^ble emptied 
His holy heart was almost tempted 
To own his insult he regretted. 
But that's what parson never yet did. 



The honest lawyer saw his doubt. 
And thus replying, help'd him out. 

*^ If then your Holiness won't bestow me 
" A patron saint, do but allow me 
'* To leave this little mite of nilne 
*' Intended for my patron's shrine; 



II 



( 230 ) 

" Tho^ I had hopes for to appear 

" Before his shrine from year to year, 

" And to have borne in your procession 

** The tributes of our poor profession. 

" But since, alas! as you imply, 

'* Your saints '' have other fish to fry," 

'* I'll go, and think no more about 'em, 

" An honest man may do without 'era, 

*' We'll try to find another road, 

" And get to heav'n by doing good/* 

The crafty priest began to stare. 
He found he'd carried things too far; 
For then he first reflected on 
The lawyer's conduct and his own, 
'Twas then he saw the close attendance 
Of Spirit upon Independence; 
'Twas then he saw 'twas Pride, not Sense, 
That gives a priest impertinence. 

Then O ! be they for blockheads book'd 
Who play with fish before they're hook'd. 

And now the lawyer's money fingering, 
(The counsel bowing, leaving, lingering) 



( 231 ) 

The Pope to staj' a moment press'd hira. 
And rising, gracious thus address'd him; 

" learned brother of the Law, 
" Do not unsatisfied withdraw, 
" It is the duty of our place 
" To grant petitioners our grace, 
" And with indulgent search to aim it 
" On sinners that with reason claim it. 
" Now it appears that your profession 
" Stands much in need of intercession, 
" And tho* our saints have each their client 
" (The fact is true, you may reiy on't) 
" Yet I've a stratagem invented 
'* That your profession may be sainted; 
" A priest may quibble if there's cause, 
" And set it down a pia fraus, 
" Then if I grant you this petition, 
" It must be done on this condition: 

" Yon church you see, with painted panes, 
*' The statue of each saint contains, 
" In sculptured niche each stands alone, 
" Displayed by carver's skill in stone; 



( 232 ) 

**" These aisles you'll nine times Avalk around, 

*^* Your eyes with ninefold bandage bound, 

^' And, while you wear the blinding bands on, 

" The figure first you lay your hands on, 

" Be it on sinner, saint^ or matron, 

^' Shall hence be calFd the Lawyer's patron : 

*' To him yaur humble pray'rs be made, 

'* To him your tribute shall be paid, 

" Your earnest hopes on him rely 

*' That he'll promote ye when ye die/' 

These terms declared they both consenta 
And to the sainted walls they went. 

And now the cautious parson ties 
A bandage o'er the lawyer's eyes; 
Like cows are hood-wink'd by their master 
That pilfer in another's pasture. 

Now, forwards bent, the long-rob'd man 
With out-stretched arras his course began; 
Just like a blind old bony horse 
Around a crab-mill gropes his course. 
Each sliding foot the pavement tries. 
Lest steps should trip him by surprise; 



( 233 ) 

Nine times the aisles he hobbled round. 
Nine times the starting-pillar found. 
Nine times each sainted shrine he pass'd. 
And with bewilder'd step at last 
The tenth time stood upon the stone 
Where first his Circuit was begun. 
" AlPs fair/' exclaimM the Pope, "proceed to 
'' Elect the saint that chance may lead to/' 

Again the hood-w^ink'd gownsman gropes. 
And for a princely patron hopes. 
Slow thro' the dull and damp aisles groping. 
Moving sometimes, and sometimes stopping; 
At length a sudden sland he made. 
And thoughtful seem'd, as tho' he prayM. 

The Pope (for narrow minds the soonest 
Imagine other men's dishonest) 
His eyes upon the lawyer keeping. 
Strongly suspected him of peeping; 
For he by chance had ta'en his station. 
And seem'd in earnest coniemplatioii]. 
Just where on high 81 Miciiaei st.jod. 
With Satan at his feet subdii'd. 



( 234 ) 

" Let^s see before you lay your hands on/^ 
ExclaimM the Pope/ " if safe the band's on/* 
He found it safe, his doubts were eas'd. 
He bade him touch whenever he pleased. 

But first he whispered in his ear 
What now must in ray tale appear j 
For 'tis the duty of my story 
A popish trick to lay before ye, 
Altho' it is as idle stuff cast 
From th' ancient tale that now I roughcast ; 
Which reason to conclude may urge ye 
'T has been corrected by the clergy; 
For th* oldest books are most suspected 
T^ have been by popish priests corrected. 

The trick was this the Pope observing 

(A lucky thought his purpose serving) 
The lawyer being in stature low 
Could hardly reach St. Michael's toe. 
And that he needs must lay his hands on 
The figure that St. Michael stands on; 
Approached the doubting lawyer near. 
And, nudging, whisper'd in his ear 



( 235 ) 

" We clergy ever are iiicliiiM 

" To help the ignorant and blind, 

" Therefore, my friend, if you should halt hercj, 

'" You're sure to touch St. MichaePs altar." 

This hint the lawyer much delighted. 
Who Ihus his vows in raptures plighted. 
Exclaiming *' by the Virgin matron, 
" Be this our saint, be this our patron, 
** To this saint (be it who it may) 
'* Henceforth let ev'ry lawyer pray; 
" r th' name of all our tribe I take him, 
" O never may our tribe forsake him, 
*' To him each lawyer's vows be made, ^ 
" To him each lawyer's tribute paid, 
" Our earnest hopes on him rely 
" That he^ll promote us when we die.^* 

With that (misled by counsel evil) 

One hand he reach' d, and graspM the Devil 1 

And (as by sympathy) he puts 
The other on the parson's guts. 



( 236 ) 

And now the Pope (O cunning elf! 
Thinking to be the saint himself) 
The disappointed lawyer pressM 
As saint to chuse which he thought best. 
Either the Devil or the Priest. 

Quoth he, *' our tribe 1 bring this farce on 
" By taking counsel of a parson ; 
" So therefore I reject the priest, 
" And^ of two evils chuse the least!'' 



THE STORY OF 

done into doggrel. 

Wb read in Greek Romances old 
That one Prometheus was so bold 
Smoaking with friends and ale jocosely 
At heaven^s lamp to light his Brosele^f, 
But how he got the etherial prize. 
By convex glass, or lady^s eyes. 
Is not by th' old recorders cited. 
But certain His his pipe was lighted; 
For, as I know the story ran. 
With that same pipe he made a man; 
He mixM his clay and alabaster. 
And cast in earthen mold his plaister. 



A 



( 238 ) 

And wond'rous ! when the mold was fractur'd, 
A living man was manufactur'd. 

Now Jovfc, a Justice of the Peace, 
Hearing the said Prometheus' case, 
Cried, " Zounds ! from us our trade he's taking, 
" We have a patent for man-making. 
" Go order Vulcan and his lads 
" To bring their hammers and some gads, 
" To bear him hence, and fast nail him on 
** The snowy summit of Pliniimmon. 
"■ And let him hang for ages thereon 
" To feed the kites and crows with carrion." 

Up there for thrice ten years he stuck. 
While vulture's gnaw'd his growing pluck. 
From whence at length he got release 
By giant-killer Hercules. 

Yet Jove, of heav'n the Lord Chief Baron, 
Sitting one day his elbow chair on. 
Could not forget his ancient hu^ 
And thought his sufferings not enough. 



( ^39 ) 

Then much he por'd with dire iutent 
To find a greater punishment; 
He thought of scourges, racks, and chains. 
Of living deaths, and lingering pains. 
Of burning, freezing, frying, toasting. 
Piercing, cutting, starving, roasting; 
And one by one his fancy fell 
On all the punishments of hell. 

Nay, once it came his cruel head iu 
To make him study special-pleading. 
Or feel, like me, how keen the curse is 
To want a rhyme when writing verses. 
Or, what is worse, like you're now plighted. 
To hear a tedious tale recited. 



But while each torture thus he singled. 
He was resolv'd to have them mingled ; 
And that Prometheus should be fixM 
Where all thes^ miseries are mixM; 
And so in doubt no longer tarried. 
But straight resolv'd to have him— — -married 



( 240 ) 

Quoth he, " in Hymen's stocks PlI place him, 
" Where ev'n Repentance can't release him : 
" And there, if I am not mistaken, 
" He'll get his belly-full of bacon. 
'' With his own blow-pipe there I'll bend him, 
" And an extinguisher will send him, 
" Which, if he once begins to handle, 
" Will soon put out his farthing candle, 
" And soon will he, I warrant, then 
*' Be surfeited of making men. 

" But then (thought he) 'twill all depend 

*' Upon what sort of wife I send : 

** Women, like cards, before they're tried, 

" Display to view the fairer side; 

'' But, taken up, make many start 
" To find a club who sought a heart, 
" A partner that, with alter'd face, 
*{ Will play the deuce and lose the ace. 
" Then should I such a trump bestow 
" As I have dealt to — (one you know) — 
" A greater blessing can't be given 
" Not ev'n by me, tho' king of heaven. 



C 241 ) 

" But if it is ray luck to pitcli 
" Oa such a self-conceited bitch 
*' As once the Devil dropped— (I fear 
The reader will too soon guess whert^) — ■ 
'^ More curses will his couch encumber 
" Than all the devils in hell can number. 
" To find a wife of such a grain 
" In heaven, the closest search is vain; 
" In heaven I'm sure no lady's maid is,* 
" Nor are there boarding-schools for ladies . 
" This bus'ness I'll no longer sulk on, 
" But fiiid my old fac-totum Vulcan.*' 

This Vulcan was a man of mettle. 
Could clean a jack, or mend a kettle. 
With all the gods heM crack his joke. 
And had of work a decent stroke; 
Old Neptune's fish-fork he'd repair. 
Or clap a shoe on Juno's mare. 
Nay once (as I have somewhere read it) 
He made a shield that did him credit. 
He shone alike in great and small trades, 
la short, he was — a Jack of all trades. 



[>uderA 
der, y 



( 242 ) 

Now Jove went out with anger itching. 
And found this Vulcan in the kitchen; 
He'd brought a poker for the maid. 
And o'er a mug of beer he stay'd. 
" Vulcan, (quoth he) my crafty cobb, 
'' I'll help thee to a titish jobb; 
*' Which, if well done, shall make thee prouder, 
" Shall wider spread thy fame and louder 
" Than all my casks of thunder-powder 
" For, when complete, I have a notion 
" 'Twill represent perpetual motion. 
" Yet, tho' I sketch thee here an outline, 
*' Without rule do it, and without line. 



*' This instrument, when first 'tis found, 

" Has sweetest melody of sound, 

*' But seldom, like the flute, appears 

'' To sweeten as it grows in years. 

" Nay oftentimes its sweetest tones 

" Will turn to discords all at once, 

" And so astonish those that play it 
« That all their power cannot lay it. 



( 243 ) 

*' Yet many a man that once has seen it 
" Would give the world could he obtain it; 
" But having it, he'd grieve and flout it, 
" And give the world to be without it; 
" Just like the magnet is its action, 
" Possessing wonderful attraction, 
" And like the inverted magnet too 
" It often drives what once it drew. 
" And though this little neat machine 
" Is weak and tender to be seen, 
" And knows submission is its station, 
*' It rules the lords of the creation." 



" Quoth Vulcan (slyly tossing up 
The drippings of his empty cup) 
" The thing you want is not uncommon, 
" Your riddle means, a sort of woman 
" By nature made to fit her station, 
" But warp'd by modern education; 
" And, by my faith, friend Jove, between us 
** You calPd to mind our Missus — Venus; 
'* The veriest devil in the skies, 
" But, hang her — she's got pretty eyes. 



( 244 ) 

" Your wish, friend Jove, fulfilled you'll find, 
" rU rig^ a vessel to your mind." 

He molds a maid in form so fair 
That ev'n with Venus might compare. 
In graceful attitude might ape her. 
The foot so neat, the leg so taper. 
Peeping beneath her snowy cloathes 
That careless o'er her limbs he throws; 
Her graceful hair in fillet furls. 
Her forehead half-conceals in curls; 
Her eyes with lengthened lashes tips. 
And parts with pearls her luscious lips \ 
But ah ! no spark of mind or soul 
Was there to brighten up the whole. 
He gave her life, and that was all, 
And made her just about as tall 
As girls when first they go a madding. 
And sent her ^mong the gods a gadding; 
Like girb go gadding here in London, 
To have their brains and tuckers undone. 
And spend a world of pence and pains 
To spoil their tuckers and their brains. 



( 245 ) 
She'll something learn, and yet 'tis otlds, 
Fth higher circles — ■ — 'inong the gods. 
She first to Juno pays devotions 
And learns of her to have high notions \ 
Thinking her haughtiness to hide 
Because she calls it " proper pride." 

Venus soon learns her tittle-tattle. 

And Mars the captain brags of battle; 

And Monsieur Mercury, d'ye see. 

Shews rigadoon and balance'. 

But, oh Apollo ! 'twould make you sick 

To hear her strum, and call it music. 
In short, she visited their halls. 

Their dinner-parties, routs, and balls. 

And tookj in this exalted station. 

What Fashion calls her Education ; 

But, as 'tis call'd by men of letters. 

To ape the vices of her betters. 

And 'cause she something learnM from all. 

They did her name Pandora call. 

Now having taken her degrees. 
Mistress of Arts, such arts as these. 



( 246 ) 

Straight unto Jove old Vulcan brought her/ 
And shew'd how stylishly he'd fraught her, 
— Equal to any modern daughter. 

Well pleas'd was then old Jove to find 
A vixen suited to his mind; 
A face so fair, a head so evil, 
'Twould catch a saint, and plague a devil. 
Then in her hand a box he put. 
And chargM her close to keep it shut. 
And give it to the man she led 
To be the part'ner of her bed; 
And while the box was in their keeping 
She never once should dare to peep in» 
He orderM Vulcan then to carry her. 
And ask Prometheus — if he'd marry her. 

Prometheus, cunning as old ISick, 
Knew Jove intended him some trick. 
And rightly all her trappings took 
For feathers that conceal'd a hook, 
'' No, no, (quoth he) friend Vulcan, here 
** You bring the wrong sow by the ear; 



( 247 ) 

And so my door 1 beg you*ll step hj,. 
And take her to my brother Epi," 



Now EpimGihens was more slow^ 
In judgment, than his brother Pro* 
A plain good-naturM sort of chap. 
Quite unsuspicious of mishap; 
His judgment always, by the bye. 
Was dazzled with a woman's eye; 
And when a lovely nymph he saw 
He never thought of blot or flaw ; 
Or seeing them would be their bail, 
— ^Like him who tells tbis silly tale. 
Nor wonder that his brother Pro 
This act unbrotherly should do. 
For now-a-days full many a brother 
Is often catch*d in such another. 



Poor Epimetheus soon consented. 
And Vulcan soon the knot cemented. 
Ere scarce the parties had agreed. 
Like that old chap beyond the Tweed. 



( 248 ) 

And now for almost half a year 
Quite happy livM the wedded pair; 
Not but sometimes the wife was pleading 
Her claims to quality and breeding ; 
And honest Epi now and then 
Would wish the noose untied again. 
But these had been small stumbling-blocks^ 
Had she not op*d her fatal box. 

Upon the lock, which opeu'd easy. 
Was seen the name of " Delicacy; '* 
The key presented to appearance 
These words — " I*m mutual Forbearance.** 

She burst the bolt, and out a crew 
Of hideous winged harpies flew; 
Of various vice a combination— 
The fruits of female education. 
And, as the hellish army fled. 
Was seen Repentance at their head. 
They grinnM and passM like those grim sprites 
That lengthening load a sick man's nights. 



( 249 ) 

And ever after, each by fits 
'Twixt Epi and Pandora sits. 
In bed among the curtains creep ; 
At board betwixt the dishes peep; 
Clung to his thoughts with griping pow'r; 
Hung on her looks to make them lour; 
Nay, ev'n their very words bestrode. 
And spurr'd them sharply as they rode; 
LurkM in each dimple's downy hole. 
And made it seem a hairy mole ; 
Bestrode the optics of their eyes. 
And gave all colours different dyes ; 
Made every-thing appear improper,. 
Like objects thro' a bottle stopper. 

Within the broken box they find 
That Hope alone was left behind. 

O think not by ray silly song. 
Ye lovely sex^ I do ye wrong ; 
I sorrow that your angel forms 
Should be the beds of canker-worms. 



( 250 ) 

Most hateful in that lovely tree 

Where luscious fruits and flow'rs should he; 

As weeds appear more odious far 

In gardens sure than any where. 

O maidens, would it but content ye 
To be but armM, as Nature meant ye. 
With real Beauty, Sense, and Virtue, 
No silly song could ever hurt you. 
No sly Prometheus in each lass 
Need then beware the snake i' th* grass ; 
Nor would poor Epi meet our mind 
In many a modern husband kind. 
Whose leaky box of harpies more has 
Than ever issued from Pandora's. 



But as things stand, 'tis fit we see 
Into what hole we thrust our key ; 
For Jove himself could not invent 
For man a greater punishment 
Than to condemn him to be mated 
With woman falsely educated. 



( 251 ) 

'¥nfflarrfed friends, the proverb keep. 
And mind to " look before ye leap." 
Beware the witching spell that lies 
In sugar lips and shining eyes. 
And when ye are on woman studying. 
Think on a nicely-sugarM pudding. 
Having, for all it looks so nice. 
Too little taste, or too much spice ; 
Beware all outside sham and cheating, 
'' The proof (ye know) is in the eating.'* 



THE 
A TALE. 

" Ecce iterura Crispinus!" 

Juvenal. 

Come titter at my tale of ticklish times. 

Come don't ye know me? 

I am the wag who sung in rugged rhymes 
The Lawyer and his chosen Saint; 
Yes, I am he; now if I ben't 
The Devil blow me. 
And I too into doggrel did Prometheus, 

I vote that fun may never fail ; 
Of sullen sulkiness I cannot see the use. 

If things go wrong it won't avail. 
Then titter at my tale; for ye shall hear 

All that I have written there. 

Come titter at my tale.* 

* Come listen to a tale of times of old f 
Come, for ye know me : I am he who sung 
The maid of Arc : and I am he who framed 
Of Thalaba the wild and wonderous song. 
Come listen to my lay, and ye shall hear 
How Madoc from the shores of Britain spread 

The adventurous sail Come listen to my lay. 

Introduction to Southey's " Madoc*** 



( 253 ) 

Wives and their wedding-shoes I sing^, 

Fail may the proverb never 
That bids us wives in due subjection brings 
In their wedding-shoes. 
Or else we lose 
The victory for ever. 

The blooming maid, I own, may scold 

That with some fribbling monkey matches, 

A little month or ere those shoes are old 

In which she foUowM him, for lace and gold. 

Like Harlequin all patches. 
For not the true elastic sword 

Is his, with Cupid's magic stored. 

But 'twill her expectations bilk. 

And prove "a chip in milk.'* 

But he my hero was a blade 

A blithe young barrister, and no such prig; 
Law's knotty cues (the essence of his trade) 
SeemM on his head entail'd, for it display*d 

A wig. 



( 234 ) 

liOgic he lovM, and thus he logic'd love: 

Women, I grant, have that which must endear them 5 
But that they have a tongue — I need not prove, 

Argah — I fear them. 
For such he knew there were (I mercy cry them) 
That seem incarnate angels — ^'till you try them. 
Deceitful thus did beauty dwell 
In Milton*s angels — Hill they fell. 

Yet for myself in honest truth Til add. 

As Tm a sinner, 
I could not bear a wife unless she had 

Some devil in her. 
Not that I'm greedy for a deal. 
But just enough to turn the scale ; . 
About as much as she — but stay. 
Here comes the heroine of my play. 

High on a green-baizM bench in court that far 
O'erlookM the judge, the jury, and the bar. 
The maid exalted sat, by cushions raisM. 

That ladies e'er should there resort. 
Squeezed in a steamy crowded court, 
I'm quite amazM ! 



( 255 ) 

Are they with pleadii^g, frauds crim:con: and scandal. 

And all the long stiff points that lawyers handle. 

So highly pleas'd? 
Nay, I declare, 

(Though I'm aware 
They'll wish my pate a hearty banging) 

Far more resort 

To the other court. 
As though they lov'd to hear of hanging. 



It must be so : or have 1 reasonM had ? 

No matter. 

My heroine was there, rieat, trimly clad ; 
She set the barristers a boggling, 
They could not read their briefs for 

And ev*n the Old-one squinted at her. 
If I a metaphor must give her, 

I'll call her Cupid's favourite quiver. 

And now just comes into my head 

A simile I've somewhere read ; 

From head to foot her form divine 

Was like — just like — a porcupine ! 

Because her shape from all its parts 

Possessed the pow'r of shooting darts. 



Imgj 



( 256 ) 

Of course, 1 wot. 

Our Lawyer's caught. 
And got into her trap he has ; 

For, as he gaz'd with silent sighs, 

Cupid's bum-hailiffs issued from her eyes. 
And served him with a capias* 

(They're body-writs, and those who send 'em 
Want' it ad satisfaciendum ) 

Oh for the gods old Homer got 

When scenes or actors wanted shifting! 

For in my plot 

Occurs a knot 
Worthy a god to give a lift in. 

Lift me the lady out of court; 

Come, do be civil; 
Jump at the jobb, ye gods, and thank me for't; 

Or I'll invoke the Devil. 

^Tis done. Th' infernal spells prevail ; 

Court, crowd, counsel, disappear ; 
All, but the lovers of my tale. 

Are gone the lord knows where. 



( 257 ) 

Now speed, ray Muse, in roving rhyme. 
Break thro' the unities of Place and Time; 
And for their mutual satisfaction. 
Proceed we now to try the Action. 
For he it known, between them both 

\i stands thus stipulated, 
That she, the wife, tho* something loth. 
Yields to this point her lover stated; 
That all her whims shall but be borne 
'Till fairly out her shoes are worn 

In which the wedding's consummated. 
And that, to have her Will the longer. 
She might procure those shoes the stronger ;- 
Nay more, she ev'n so far prevail' d 
That, if she chose — they might be nailM. 

But when the wedding morn appear'd. 
The timid lover almost fear'd 

To look upon her feet ; 
For, pondering on approaching fate. 
He'd dreamM of cloven ones of late. 
And thought to see two wooden logs 
Well fitted in the form of clogs. 

Firm stitch'd and nail'd complete. 



( 258 ) 

When peep'd her slender foot half-hid^ 
Enslipper'd neat in thin new kid. 

The" •wondering youth was overjoyM; 

Took courage and pulPd up his breeches; 
Odd*s flesh! there's comfort yet (he cried) 

This flimsy leather ^ 

Can't last for ever. 
Though tough, and tight the stitches. 

Now the next morning early. 
As the young bride 
Lay by his side 
She thus bespoke him fairly; 
My love,, explain 
What lawyers mean 
By consummation of a wedding? 
Doubtless (he cried) 
My dearest bride. 

The bedding 

Why then (said she) my Will Tve won. 
For shoes of living skin I've on; 
And, if my dearest thinks I've faiPd, 
I'll prove my wedding-shoes are— nail' p ! 



1 



#lti Bith', 



OR, THE BIRTH OF BREIDDEN; 

Being a PindariG Grin for the Convimah 
of Breidden-hill, 1811. 

BY THEIR POET-FERNEAT. 



Friends, Britons, Breiddenites, lend me your ears, 

I come to /ay the Devil, not to praise him ; 
Tho' if you'll keep my courage up with cheers, 

FU raise him. 
For I've a whim 
To make a bit of fun of him. 
We need not fear his arts or arms. 
Encircled as we are- with charms. 



( 260 ) 

Tho% by the bye, he wo'nt appear 
In Shropshire or Montgomeryshire; 

So well they wish him^ 
For the old grudge he meant them here, 
They*ll send him home with a flea in his ear. 

They'll dish him. 
^Tis an old granny's story — *tis a queer one; 
Come, pass the cup. 
For now Fm up 
ril • tell it — for you perhaps may like to hear one- 

Thus I, your Ferneat, may shew 
You've not misplac'd the wreath my head that graceS;^ 
For fern is natural — quite at home, you know. 
In barren places. 

When the Devil in old times got a jobb of work 
In his own proper person he'd pursue it; 
And not, I trow. 
As he does now. 
In other folks's persons lurk 

And make them ^o it» 
But even now he's quickly known 
Whether in Lawyer's or in Parson's gown 



( 261 ) 

He dares to shew him ; 

Look to his deeds. 
And spite of his silken or his sable weeds 

You'll know him. 
But to my story. — It befel 
Once on an embassy fiom Hell, 
He sought thro' stout Montgomery and honest Salop, 

Some caitiff heart wherein to hide him; 
But there he found his cursM design was all up. 

They couldn't iabide him. 
Quoth he then, mutt'ring, since no friend I've found, 
^Twixt both these counties Til the Severn pound 

By dropping a huge mountain in that river; 
So will the one be dried, the other drown'd; 

If I don't do it — damn my liver ! 

Now in those days (as Poets tell) 
There was in Hell 
A hill up which with many a groan 
A fellow heavM a huge round stoBe> 
Which, when he'd got it almost to the top. 
Would obstinately trundle down 
(Before he could say Jack Robinson,) 
And, bouncing, plump agaiust another stone 

Wop. 



( 262 ) 
And so his work was never done. 
Which to the Devil was rare fun; 
And 'cause the chap had longing seen 
Some darasePs downy-dimpled chin. 

Thus did Old Nick his longings cross; 
For well 'tis known 
To roll a stone 
Is not to gather moss. 



The Devil in haste 
Around his waist 

An apron-string of tape run. 
Picked up this hill and stone at a souse. 
As easily as crack a louse. 

And clapp'd them in his apron. 
Then came he waddling on his way. 

And puffingly he bore him; 
Like a fat Alderman on a lord-mayor's day. 

That straddling struts 

After his guts. 
For fear they should break loose land get there before him. 



( 263 ) 
Now whether we're' like Old Nick or he like us 

I'll not make a fuss. 
Odious comparisons I mustn't haul here; 
Tho' in some things it does me strike. 
That we and he are like to like. 

As he said when he kiss'd the cellier. 
But certain 'tis, the more we hurry us 

When on the Devil's business bent, 
'Twill often make us frustrate our intent, 
^ Twill flurry us. 
So did it him : — for when he came 
Within a stone's-throw of the vStream, 

Grunting and writhing, 
A rough edge of this rugged rock 
Nick'd the tape apron-string, which broken 

And down dropped Breidden ! 
He, cursing, left it where it fell. 
And in a huff shot back to hell ! 
But first the rolling stone he swung. 
And farther tow'rd the Severn flung; 
Where to this day it still is shewn. 
And still is calPd — The Kissing Stone. 



( 264 ) 
Now ever since, when the Devil lends, 
. His apron to his friends 
To do some dirty jobb in. 
He bids them thus beware the worst, 
" Beware th* old nick that Breidden burst, 
" Beware th* old nick i* th* bobbin, 
" Lest you, uriapron'd, feel like me the shame of 

" A scurvy trick** 
And hence, no doubt, the Devil got the name of 

Old Nick. 



Now if in your way the Devil sends 

His friends 3 
In whatsoever robes array' d. 

As aforesaid. 
Look to their deeds, I saj', you can't mistake 'emj 
And if folks will tie up vile things. 
Under their apron-strings. 
Oh ! may the Old Nick break 'em. 



( 265 ) 

But ei'3 Life's cup of care we fill 

Let us distil 
Good thoughts from evil ; 
With Mirth's essential spirit let's anoint 

Life's creaking joint 
And when old Time our apron-string unties. 
Mount may we, like old Breidden, to the skies, 
And, like old Breidden,- disappoint the Devil. 



** OLD NICK" is nothing more than the popular story 
of the peasantry around the Breidden mountains, carelessly 
thrown into measure for the entertainment of the convivial 
party of Ladies and Gentleman, who fin eommemoration of 
nothing more than their former meetings of mirth and 
amusement) spend a summer's day there, under the conduct 
of an annual President, Recorder, and Poet-Ferneat; which 
latter office the Author had the honour of holding in 1811, 
being their 22iid anniversary. See ''Beauties of Englan» 
AND Walls," Vol. 13. p. 389. Shropshire. 



A a 



PROLOGUE FOR A 



S^Vtt' 



Written and sent to London at the request of some juvenile 
actors there. 



Enter Manager, 
Ladies and Gentlemen, 

Let me read you a letter, that patly now pops here 
In the place of a prologue. — ^Tis dated from Shropshire. 

Dear Jack, 

1 have spurred my dull Muse to make one try 

To tell how we actors get praise in the country. 
Where our audience ne*er yawn at the squallings 

of Naldi, 
Never weep at your Kemble, nor grin at Grimaldi. 



( 267 ) 

But they fix on a farce (for too just are our fears 
Since they sleep at our hamlets IheyM snore at our 
Lears. ) 
Our bedquilt is hung on whose patchwork so gay 
Trees, trophies, and temples, at once we display ; 
Our parts are rehearsed, and our playbills indited ; 
And all good-natur*d friends (but none else) are invited^ 
To whom, while our actors are putting their dress on. 
Little Miss thumbs and elbows her only Hook's lesson; 
While each actor by turns thro' a slit in the quilt 
His well-raddled nose pushes up to the hilt ; 
Or peeps with importance behind the proscenium i 
( — That's a name that we give to two pots of geranium) 
But hark! — 'twas the sheep-bell! — a sure signal 
that is 
That summons to fame our personce dramatis. 
See ! — the coverlet moves ! — like the forest of Birnara! 
(Curse the pullies and cords — how they creak as we 

turn 'em) — 
The wit it then wags, and the fun it goes featly 
And 'twixt prompter and actor 'tis done most com- 
pletely. 
Then how from our audience can plaudits be scarce, 
\ When our acting is all — (what they fix'd on)— a farce? 



1 



€jptlogtte 



For the Theatricals at Prado, the seat of the 
Honourable Thomas Kenyon. 

(In the character of a Barrister.) 

May it please ye, my lords, and you jury of ladies. 
Ye well know neither speaking nor acting our trade is j 
But in hopes to amuse our poor efforts we strain. 
We blacken our whiskers and spangle our train ; 
And your ridicule risk while we strive to resemble 
The voice of a Siddons, and strut of a Kemble. 
But ''the deed is now done," all our faults are committed 
And your verdict we wait to be quashM or acquitted. 

Tho' with brief in my hand here their counsel you see 
'Tis their fault if I fail — for they've giv'n me no fee. 
Yet to shew the warm wish oCmy xiients' intention. 
One case that's in point from my brief will I mention. 



( 269 ) 

You all may remember the Midsummer sports — 

(The Case is reported in Shakspeare's Reports) 

Of Snout, Quince, au^ Snug — bright Athenian fellows; 

Poor Starveling the stitch-louse, and a mender of bellows; 

How their play was prefer'd, and their parts how they 

got 'em. 

All conducted in style under manager Bottom. 

Poor Pyramus, plum'd with a turkey-cock's feather. 

And Thisbe, sweet anaid^ in an ,apron of leather. 

And her majesty's tinker, stout, clever, and tall, 

Daub'd over with mortar — " presented a wall." 

That king Theseus was wise, we hardly may 
doubt him. 

For he took care to have honest players about him. 

In perfection he lookM not for such to succeed. 

But kindly accepted — the will for the deed. 

If at Athens^ for wisdom and justice renown'd. 
And ia goodness of heart kind indulgence is found. 
Sure we (tha' of acting we shew hut the shadow. 
May with confidence look for indulgence at Prado. 

Yet another word more.- — Should we meet your denial. 
We'll move to amend, and obtain a new trial ; 
Then, whatever the decree, we shall feel satisfaction 
If the friends of a Kenyon shdlX judge of our action. 



TO MRS. REYNOLDS, OF LAMBETH, 

with a 



(^0000. 



•! 



As I oft have been told 

By the poets of old 
Of the swans at their death singing once, 

I ask'd of my Muse 

A few rhymes for my goose. 
For she knew that " my geese were all swans,' 

But on learning to whom 
My poor rhymes were to come 
She told me your happier Muse 

Would declare with shrewd wit 
That my note was scarce fit 
To accompany that of my goose. 



( 271 ) < 

But i' faith (replied I) 

My poor efforts Til try. 
And if tiiey should fail to amuse. 

Give my paper the fire 

That my verses require. 
And they'll shine — wlieii they're singeing the goose. 



Old historians describe 

How this cackling tribe 
One night savM a city from plunder ; ' 

But more laurels shall shine 

Over this goose of mine 
That one day saves a lady from hunger. 



*' Mother Goose" and her eggs. 

And Grimaldi's loose legs 
Suit a cockney's theatrical rage; 

But such jokes who'd not quit 

To partake of your wit, 
A{id my goose — stufl'd with onions and sage? 



( 272 ) 

Was my goose but a speaker 
(As good interest might make her) 

To your social table when carried 

SheM exclaim—" 'tis now clear 
" Why my master comes here, 

" — 'Tis to learn to live happy when married. 

" May each unmarried pair 

" See how happy ye are, 
" Admire the sweet lesson, and learn itj 

" For without it 'tis plain 

" Life's a straw without grain, 
" The veriest gander would spurn it. 



" Then O long may ye live 

" The example to give, 
** And its influence widely diffuse ; 

*' And may all who despise 

" Be refer'd for advice 
" To the last dying speech of a goose.'j 



THE 

BURLESQUE TRANSLATION 

Of the first Ode of Horace. 
" Maecenas, atavis edite regibus.'' &c. 

Some youths (ye Presidents and Wardens) 
That reign in college courts, and gardens) 
Delight in dashing gigs to raise 
Oxonian dust in summer days. 
And with hot wheels to hurry home 
rth 'nick of time for tolling Tom; 
To gain your grace and commendation. 
And save their hlockheads from translation. 

This youth, for rows to honour rais'd, 
'is by the noisy gownsmen praisM; 



( 274 ) 
Nor can the present, past, or future,. 
Oblige him to attend his tutor. 
Contented if he only gains 
An imposition for his pains. 

Another (to be reckoned great) 
Squanders health, money, and e>state; 
Nor can the Muses or Apollo 
Persuade him good advice to follow. 

The student in isome college moping 
On Rhetoric, or Logic chopping. 
Whose brains a syllogism teases. 
And idle life of pleasure praises. 
And in ''plain terms" begins to curse all 
Particulars and Universal; 
But soon he finds his fallacy. 
And takes his Aldrich up with joy. 

Here Euclid's poring sophist wrangles 
To prove that squares are not triangles; 
And draws great learning from his pate 
To shew that crooked is not straight; 
And proves by argument (d'ye see) 
'Tis clear as mud that A's not B. 
Or stuiFs with algebra his head 
From a b c to x y z. 



( 275 ) 

Another, whom no problems puzzle. 
The purple poison loves to guzzle ; 
And, happy with his drunken rabble. 
Reclines at ease beneath the table. 

Others in streets with clubs rejoice. 
Regardless of the proctor's voice; 
And,; heed them not, but e\'a deride 'eni 
When they exclaim ** siste per Jidem.^* 
This loves his teasing duns to buUy^ 
And break their heads with Locke or Tully, 
And that all gentler joys despises 
To steer a girl upon the Isis. 
While 'tis another's summum bonum 
To cheat the manciple and Hownam.* 

Be mine the curly wig of state 
That decks the lawyer's empty pate; 
In ragged gown to thump and stare 
^Mid bums and bullies at the bar. 
O teach me, Lyttleton and Coke, 
To bother from the bench of oak. 
Rut graft me 'mid the twelve a member, 
I'll lift me to the " starred-chamber ;" 
Then shall my name be known afar — 
From Charing Cross to Temple Bar! 



• The late butler of Christ Chuich, Oxford. 



MP^tlf and ecK 

A DIALOGUE. 

" Potesne mihi dicere verum, Echo ? 

V Erasmus. 

Sweet Echo, if thourt to my plaint reply, 
And counsel me, to learn of thee PU try? 

I'll try. 

! 

First tell me how to pay my court to thee 
That thy replies and counsel may be free? 

Be free. 

Then tefl me of my faults, but not too loud 
Lest of thy privilege I think thee proud. 

I think thee proud. 



( 277 ) t 

And what clo*st thou expect that dar'st adventure 
Thus bold to brand thy votaries with censure ? 

^ Censure. 

What makes me proud ? come. Echo, spare me never, 
f I see, pert nymph, you fancy yourself clever. 

You fancy yourself clever. 

1* 
Why people tell me so, I know not why, 

Good-natur'd souls, — then should 1 think they lie ? 

' I think they lie. 

What do they think me then, come tell me cool. 
To see me feed on flattery from a fool? 

A fool. 

Then what is he that says my verse has fire. 
And swears that mine's a simple and sweet lyre ? 

A simple and sweet liar, 

^Then what are all the hopes I entertain 

[To pierce at \^si the rich poetic vein ? 

' '• . Vain. 

B b 



- ^ ( 278 ) 

Then in the lyre no longer Til delight. 

Nor court the Muse, nor jingling verses ' write. 

• Right. 

What think'«t thou of my promise to apply 
And make the Bar my firm and fond ally ? 

A lie. 

In fair Westfelton's groves^ of me admrr'd. 
How shall I feel to live alone, retired? 

Tir'd. 

Why then to music, hooks, and friends Til fly. 
And for a wife 1*11 wed Philosophy. 

O fie! 

What then, sly nymph, thou fair would'st have me marry 
Like heedless boys, all rash and momentary ? 

Tarry. 

Am I then such a simple fool, whose heart 
Listens to babbling gossips like thou art? 

ThoB art. 



( 279 ) 

What should I think each flaunting girl whose pride all 
Breaks out in dress, whom foplets call an idol ? 

An eye-doll. 

Can they be good, whose pride and wealth immense 
Stalks o'er the simple fields of innocence? 

In no sense. 



How shall I give their minds a spark of freedom ? 
Tho' bards like angels wrote, they'd never read *em. 

Never teed 'em. 

Oh ! shall I ever on this side the grave. 
Find a good wife, as Tve seen others have ? 

Others have. 

And finding such, I then should mar the matter. 
How should I know her mind? Fm no Lavater. 

Have at her. 

But how, if she in Love's coy smiles enmask her. 
Will she be led in Hymen's ray to bask her ? 

Ask her. 



( 280 ) 

*But wo'nt a woman's word, tho* firm she- boast it. 
Deceive the truest youth ? Ah ! nymph^ thou know'st it. 

Thou kno-w'st it. 

But if she swear it, and the ring H shews her, 
^nd all seems fix'd, is he then sure he knows her ? 

No, Sir. 

Some few I've seen so sweet, that; (on my conscience,) 
For their dear sakes I can think iH of none since. 

Nonsense i 

Of woman more Fd learn, but not fatigue thee 
Sweet nymph, with questions, for I fear they'll 

plague thee. 

They'll plague thee. 

When can I best my own opinion shew 
Aply as thou do'st, nymph, when spoken to ? 

When spoken to. 

What, do I then (to sense and manners lost) 
Babble the stuff of others, as thou do'st ? 

Thou do'st. 



( 281 ) 

Thou*lt tell me then, pert nymph, by the same rule. 
For very talking's sake I talk to a fool. 

1 talk to a fool. 

Nay, Echo, nay, give me a fair reply, 
For, gentle nymph, in a mistake you lie. 

You lie. 

Uncourteous maid ! affi-onting a young man 
To court your smiles and favours who began. 

Who began ? 

Baggage, I know thy prattling sex too well ; 
Fool me no more; I'm tirM, so fare thee well. 

I'm tir'd, so fare thee -well. 



n 



FAREWELL TO THE 

I fear me. Muse, that fond and young 

My heart inebriate misgave me. 
When first I sippM thy winning song. 

And lov*d thy looks, that do deceive mej 
Had I but reachM a riper age. 

And Reason to her main-mast bound me, 
I then, like him the wandering Sage, 

Had stoppM my ears ere thou had'st found me. 

Thou Syren. 



1 



( 284 ) 
In fair Westfelton's groves of rest 

Thou cam'st with halcyon draughts of others. 
And, as their nectar fir'd my breast, 

Sorc'ress ! thou bad'st me think them brothers; 
Bright evergreens, that lustering shine. 

Their brows embower'd and honour'dmade themv 
While thou poor wild-flow'rs thrust on mine, 

Nor told of frost that soon would fade them, 
• .^4./^#i : j^^^ Syren. 

Yet has thy little lyre the pow*r. 

Though deem'd by defter bards a bad one. 

For me to gild a gloomy hour. 

And wake a warmth to greet a glad one: 

Then should I lay thy lyre aside. 

And, Muse, a parting farewell wish thee. 

Though launched on Lucre's yellow tide, 

I marvel not but I should miss thee. 

Thou Syren. 



I 



( 285 ) 
But ah ! thou laughter-loving jade. 

Oh many a rhyme-smit youth thou leerest. 
Whom, by thy smile to song hetrayM, 

Soon ^mid the witless world thou jeerest : 
Say, Muse, am I not one of those? — 

For oft (our lot, alack, how common!) 
Thy favour, wheedling to expose, 

" Can smile and smile'^ — -just like a woman, 

'^hou Syren. 

Yet Where's the youth that ever felt 

But one look of a lady^s favour. 

Though in her smile delusion dwelt. 

Could bid his bosom turn and leave her^ 

Therefore the Sire of Song designed 
(In extacy his fancy swimming^ 

His race recoverless to bind. 

And made the Muses all of women. 

The Syrens! 



( 286 ) 

Then since Vm fetter'd to my fate, 

(Thy aprbn-string "nine times aiound^^ me!) 

And thoUj my Muse, at early date. 

With wreath of short-liv'd flowers ha'st crowned me. 

Of Truth the lessons let me learn. 
By thee and all thy favourites aided, 

JVnd if I teach but one^ 'twill earn 

A better crown when thine is faded. 

Thou Syren 



I 



atitire00 



Spoken to the Liter art/ Friends assembled at West* 
felton, on Shakspeare's Birth- Day t 1814. 

JTormea from W caJoufes* 

Kind friends, sweet friends, peace be unto this meeting, 
Joy and fair time, health, and good wishes ever. 
Now, worthy friends, the cause why we are met. 
Is in celebration of the day that gave 
Our matchless Shakspeare birth : and took him to 
That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne 
No traveller returns. He was in sooth 
The most replenished sweet work of Nature, 
Which from the prime creation e'er she fram'd ; 
And trained up witiiia iier own sweet court; 
Where being but youn-.;, he framed to the harp 
FuU many an English ditty lovely well. 

Do not smile at me that I boast him off^ 
For ye shall find he will outstrip all praise, 

Ce 



( 290 ) 

And make it halt behind him : — 'twere ai well 

To gild refined gold^ to paint the lilly« 

To throw a perfume on the violet, 

To smoothe the ice, or add another hue 

Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 

To seek the beauteous face of heaven to garnish. 

Oh ! he's above all praise : it were all one 

That I should love a bright particular star. 

And think to wed it, he is so above me : 

In his bright radiance, and collateral light 

Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 

Yet was he gentle ; for who were below him 

He us'd as creatures of another place. 

And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks. 

Making them proud of his humility. 

O thou divinest Nature ! how thyself thou blazon^ st 
In this thy princely boy ! he was as gentle 
As zephyrs blowing below the violet 
Not wagging its sweet head : and yet as roughs 
His noble blood enchaf 'd, as th' rudest wind 
That by the top doth take the mountain pines 
And make them stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonderful. 
That an invisible instinct should frame him 



( 291 ) 

To poetry, unlearned; honour, untaught; 

Civility, not seen in other ; knowledge. 

That wildly grew in him, yet yielded crops 

As though it had heen sown : for he could find 

Tongues in the trees, hooks in the running brooks^ 

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing ; 

Holding as 'twere the mirror up to Nature, 

Shewing Virtue her own feature. Scorn her image. 

The very age and body of the time 

Its form and pressure : — Hear but his Mirth, 

Perforce you'd laugh, sans intermission. 

An hour by the dial ; for in his brain, 

(Which then's as dry as the remainder biscuit 

After a voyage), he hath strange places cramA'd 

With observation, the which he vents 

In mangled forms. In sooth a meiTi^r man 

Within the limit of becoming mirth 

We cannot spend an hour's talk withal : 

His eye begets occasion for his wit ; 

For every object that the one doth catch. 

The other tsrrns to a mirth-moving jest. 

Which his fair pen (Couceit^s expositor) 

Delivers iu such apt and gracious words. 



( S92 ) 

That aged ears play truant at his tales. 
And younger hearings are quite ravished. 



So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 
That hear him reason in Divinity, 
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish 
You would desire he had been made a prelate. 
Hear him debate on commonwealth affairs. 
You'd say — it had been all-in-all his study. 
List his discourse of War, and you shall hear 
A fearful battle rendered you in music. 
Turn him to any part of Poesy, 
The Gordian knot of it will he unloose 
Familiar as his garter ; that when he speaks, 
A still mute wonder lurketh in men's ears 
To steal his sweet and honied sentences. 
That not o'erstep the modesty of Nature, 
Take them and cut them out in little stars. 
They're thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. 
And fall on us, like gentle dews from heav'n 
Upon the plants beneath ; they are twice blest. 
They bless both him that gives, and him that takes. 



( 293 ) 

Tho* Gentleness his soft enforcement be. 
Yet he in fiction, in a dream of Passion, 
Can force his soul so to his whole conceit. 
That he can drown the very stage with tears. 
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech. 
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free. 
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 

He can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
Make church-yards yawn, and shew the sheeted ghosts 
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon> 
Making night horrible, and tales unfold 
That harrow up the soul, and freeze the bflood 
To hear them squeal and gihber, — 

He is Faftey's miiwife. 
Ruling at will, by his so potent art. 
The elves of hills, brooks, standing take^, and groveir. 
That do by moonshine, screen sour ringlets mak€. 
Whereof the ewe not bites ; that dew-drop^ ^eek. 
And hang a pearl in ev'ry cowslip's ear, 
Whik sweet the iBodnlight sleep!; updn ilm bsiik 
And tips with silver all the fruit-tree topa* 



( 294 ) 

He's of Imagittation all compact. 
For aye his eye, in a fine phrenzy rolling. 
Doth glance from heav*n to earth, from earth to heav'n. 
And as Imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, his ready pen 
Tarns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothings 
A local habitation and a name. 

Oh ! what a noble piece of work was he. 
In faculty, in reason infinite ! 
Express and admirable, like an angel ! 
A combination and a form indeed 
Where every god did seem to set his seal. 



Heav'n has him now — Yet let our idolatrous fancy 
Still sanctify his reliques ; and this day 
Stand aye distinguished in the calendar 
To the last syllable of recorded lime. 
And from his fair and unpolluted grave 
May violets spring.— With sweetest fairest flowers. 
While proud pied April, drest in all his trim. 
And Summer lasts, and I live here. Sweet William, 
We'll strew thy grave. Carnations and streaked gilli- 
flowers. 



( 295 ) 

Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram. 

The freckled cowslip, buriiet, and green clover ; 

The marigold, that goes to bed with 'Sun, 

And with him rises weeping. Daffodils 

That come before the swallow dares, and take 

The winds of March with beauty : violets dim. 

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. 

Or Cyther^ea^s breath : pale primroses 

That die unmarried, ere they can behold 

Bright Phoebus in his strength. Bold oxlips, and 

The crown Imperial : lillies of all kinds 

The flower de-lis being one — And then we'll all 

Ring Fancy's knell, with concord of sweet sounds. 

And true-love showers.-— 

Sweets to the sweet, farewell ! 
For if we take him but for all in all. 
We ne'er shall look upon his like again. 



( 294 ) 

He*« of Imagiflation all compact. 
For aye his eye, in a fine phrenzy rolling, 
Doth glance from heav'n to esrlh, from earth to heav'n. 
And as Imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, his ready pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothings 
A local habitation and a name. 

Oh ! what a noble piece of work was he. 
In faculty, in reason infinite ! 
Express and admirable, like an angel ! 
A combination and a form indeed 
Where every god did seem to set his seal. 

Heav'n has him now — Yet let our idolat'rous fancy 
Still sanctify his reliques ; and this day 
Stand aye distinguished in the calendar 
To the last syllable of recorded time. 
And from his fair and unpolluted grave 
May violets spring. — With sweetest fairest flowers. 
While proud pied April, drest in all his trim. 
And Summer lasts, and I live here. Sweet William, 
We'll strew thy grave. Carnations and streaked giili- 
flowers. 



( 295 ) 

Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram. 

The freckled cowslip, buriiet, and green clover ; 

The marigold, that goes to bed with *Sun, 

And with him rises weeping. Daffodils 

That come before the swallow dares, and take 

The winds of March with beauty : violets dim. 

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. 

Or Cythersea's breath : pale primroses 

That die unmarried, ere they can behold 

Bright Phcebus ia his strength. Bold oxlips, and 

The crown Imperial : liliies of all kinds 

The flower de-lis being one — And then we'll all 

Ring Fancy's knell, with concord of sweet sounds. 

And true-love showers.— 

Sweets to the sweet, farewell ! 
For if we take him but for all in all. 
We ne'er shall look upon his like again. 



%f}t Winim^ ^tee. 



There was a tree grew on a green hill top. 

Amid a tuft of hawthorns and wild roses^ 

A mighty fav'rite with the village swains. 

And girls of gayment. The bright ivy clang 

Around its arms in tufted bushiness^ 

And through its boughs the dangling woodbine peered 

With horii-tipt coronets. The healthful tree 

Made Summer music to the ni nble gale> 

And briskly turn*d its fresh leaves up to meet 

The merry breeze of mora : or wav'd at ease 

Right graceful in the cool and languid breath 

Of noontide silence: oral evening soft 

Would sleep in still repose, with deep-bower'd arms 

Warm in the level sunbeam's mellowness. 

Yet have I seen it in the Wintry blast 

Toss its high top in triumph^ and sing out 

The storm-song of the season : and Tve tracM 



( 297 ) 

In Autumn's misty morn^ or moonlight fog, 
It's outline indistinct, but soft and mild. 

In a dark day indeed, 'twould sometimes wear 
A louring gloom, but then it suited sweet 
The features of the scene. Was never hour 
Merry or moarnful, but it caught a charm 
Accordant, tho* of multitudes unmark'd. 
Or mark'd with merest apathy. That tree 
Is now no more : and in a few short years 
It, and the heart that now remembers it, 
(As many a similar soul has been before) 
And which^ like it, each varying hour and year 
Of Life's uncertain Seasons, true to Nature, 
Aye caught a kindred charm, will be forgot. 
And neyer tint the field of Memory more» 



INSCRIPTION FOR THE 



Cottage 



AT PORKINGTON. 



Cottage or Coilrl the hand of Blessedness 

Alike may smoothe, or that of Misery 

Roughen alike : for oh ! nor Conrt nor Got 

Either confer, but either Self alone. 

Not murkier gloom November's darkest day 

Lays on these woods, than what some eonfteard Vice 

Views thro* her heavy eye, the' full-flower'd MAy 

Bloom lush in loveliness : nor brighter shin^ 

The spangled crown that Loyalty adorns. 

Than the pure gem that Pilv drops to thaw 

The frost of Poverty. — Goodness alone 

Gives lustre to the Court ; or to the Cot 

Conient.— In each, peace-makers may abide. 

And where they bide, sure the abode is blessed. 



INSCRIPTION FQR 

NORTH WALES. 
7 he Scene of the Hallelujah Victory, A, C. 420. 

Once let the Mase, Ah, once at least ! record 
A bloodless victory. At Easter-tide 

Four Centuries and cue Score years from Christ 
Here Saint Germarms led the British file. 
Wet from his hands babtiz'd on Alyn's banks, 
'Gainst legionM Picts and Saxons. At a sign 
Three times the faithful band shout Hallelujah !— 
The echoing woods, as from ten thousand tongues. 
Shout Hallelujah !— Back the baffled hosts 
Retire precipitate, confus'd, astouish'd. 
And spare the woes of War. — Oh f spare them too. 
Ye, mis-naHi*d followers of " the Prince of Peace," 
That to your Christian creeds can reconcile 
What Earth still perpetrates, and Heav'n abhors. 



omtts. 



VALENTINE. 



Now, by Saint Valentine, my hope is bold 

To tell thee, maid, 1 love thee : for thy smile 
Bids courage bud, yet bids but to beguile. 
As yonder crocus, peeping^ to unfold 
It's leaves of emerald and cloth of gold 

To February's short tho» shining day. 
Doubtful of cloudy chill and coming cold. 

Timid it opens to the sunny ray.~- 
And must I, maid, endure with lab'ring heart 

Dark louring March, and April's changeful sky. 

Ere May mild beaming in thy heav'n-blue eye 
To my heart's blossoms shall it's warmth impart ? 
Sweet maid ! 1*11 meet, nor murmur at, my doom. 
If but at last thou'lt bid Love's heav'niy Summer 
bloom. 



( 301 ) 



II. 



Lat>Y; upon yon mountain as ye gaze, 

The melting snow-Iock on it's side behold. 
Sweetly on which the Sun of April plays. 

Think on my heart— as pure, but not as cold ; 

For in that snov; my heart's sad tale is told ; 
Melting beneath the sunbeams of thine eyes 
Sparkling and chaste, a little while it lies. 

Then all at once to long oblivion's roH'd. 
Yet will thy smiles be lovely as before, 
Tho' I must never never see them more. 
Too cruel maid ! what tho' my lowly cot 

Boast not the hall of state, the glittering cove ? 
Aye habit there to compensate my lot 
The heav'n-born soul of Song, and liberal heart of 
Love, 

Dd 



( 30-2 ) 



III. 



Proud maid ! for thee Eochara's diamond shines. 

Sparkles for thee the wine in golden bowl : 
While round my brow the humble ivy twines. 

And flows the tide of large and liberal sOul. 
Yet once admitted to thy blissful hall, 

Where Splendour mansions on her glittering throne, 
Where Beauty smiles as Music weaves her thrall, 

"\Vho\s he so bold thy bondage to disown ? 
O maid unmatched I tliy witching charms have strung 

V»'or{h, Wisdom, V/it, to grace thy subject traia : 
And hud the'Syrens erst like thee but sung, 

Ulysses self had own'd their captive chain : 
Tho' scoruM fair Circe, and Calypso kind, 
I'liy bowl, tho^ poison-fili'd, had won his stubborn mind. 



n 



( 303 ) 

IV. 

TO JOHN CLAVERING WOOD, ESQ. 
With a Volume of my Rhymes. 

Congenial friend ! when o'er the Atlantic far, 
111 suit of Nature's charms, and classic lore. 
Thy fond eye feastij)g greets the Latian shore. 

This little volume near thy bosom bear. 

Then think on him whose Rhymes are written here. 
On him whose eye with thine in youthful mirth 

Gaz'd on the garniture of Summer fair. 
Whose hand has cheerful irimmM thy Winter's hearth. 

Think on the rills and dingles woodbine hung. 
The lush wild roses of each grassy lane; 

And own not sweeter charms has Nature flung 
O'er vales of Sicily or Lusitane. 

Then on thy mem'ry these poor posies cast 

To grace the grave of many a pleasure past. 



( 304 ) 



Adversity ! to teach us what we are 

Is thy appointed task. — We learn from thee 
That we are barques on an uncertain sea 

Sleeping o'er rugged rocks serene and fair: 

Sleeping short-while as Youth's unruffled sail 
Swells to the breeze of Joy on Pleasure's tides 

And skims all easy to the vernal gale. 

As the green halcyon o'er the surface glides. 

Anon, at thy rude breath the sky is dinimM, 
Flutter the shrouds, and the big billows heave> 

And where all azure late the halcyon skimmM, 
The Sea-mew screaming rides the stormy wave; 

Then does thy voice this wholesome lessen bear. 

Adversity, to teach us what we are. 



1 



( 305 ) 



VI. 



Strevmlet I raethinks thy lot reseniWes mine. 

For thou art wayward, and delight'stto run 
Thro' dingles wild, where writhen roots entwine; 

Tlie haunts that Pow'r and Pride are like to shun ; 
Or if by chance they cross thy playful stream 
They mark thee not, nor seek to know thy source. 

For men have never mappM thy modest course. 
Nor thought worth while to give thee even a nam.e. 
Yet art thou not unloved ; for on thy brink 
The primrose blossoms early, and the bird 
Of orange bill down thy deep glen is heard 
By some lane youth that pauses tliere to think 
That he o'er life's sequester'd vales, like thee, 
Tho' not unmournful, runs right merrily. 



( 306 ) 



VII. 



How sullenly, chill March, how sullenly 

Dost thou depart ! tho' not long since the while 
Thy looks were trick'd with many a sunny smile» 
That coldly now turn back with frownful eye. 
Sharply tho' short, thy sudden snow-gusts fly. 
And light upon the little whitethroat's wing. 
That ou the bare twig chirps so cheerfully. 

The first-come feather'd guest of early Spring. 
Hard month ! thy reign is o'er. — It seems to me 
The proud pert maiden has been schooi'd by thee. 
That her cold smile on some poor stripling throws^ 

Enticed to credit her all-faithless eye. 
But short her sway ; and, like thee, as she goes 
She casts a backward look, and frowns full sullenly. 



( 307 ) 



VIH. 

P Not so, sweet April, oli ! not so art thou 

Like thy cold sister March: for thou art shy 

At first; thy tender cowslip scarce knows how 
To raise, h^^ i^ead, or ope his timid eye, 
Tho* swessUy tempted by thy fine blue sky ; 

Yet suddeu oft thy ha^ty showers ar€ shed. 

At length, tho' modestly, he lifts his head 
When of thy smik assur'd so lovingly. 

Ah ! could I find, to shine on Life's lone way, 
A maid Jike thee 1 sooth, I would gladly bear 

Her first cold looks, her half-said yea or nay. 
And e\'ry female change she choose to wear, 

WouM she, sweet April, (some few poutings past) 

But look like \k^^ and s?iiile all lovely to the last. 



( 308 ) 



IX 



Ivy, I say thou art the Poet^s plant. 

For fondly round some sapling art thou seen 

Checking its early growth : but thou dost grant 
It's lifeless trunk a wreath for ever green. 
Lowly thou art, but aye thy leaves so sheen 

Catch the bright beams, and with the zephyrs play ; 
Yet thou can'sl mount the clouded cliffs, I ween. 

And grace the proudest tow'rs with garlands gay. 

Thou, too, thy blossoms wild dost kindly spread 
In the cold lap of Winter^ scarce repaid 
With a slant sunbeam, while some sickly blade. 

Some foreign flower is honour'd in thy sted, 

Tho' Nature has adornM thee nothing scant.-— 

— Therefore, I say, thou art the Poet's plant. 



( 309 ) 



X. 



Like «ome vast Theatre whose ample stage 
Presents what gifted pen or pencil find 

To win the rapt heart, or the eye eng8g,e> 
Where all seems magic 'to the youthful ijaiftd,!^ 

Is thy domain, sweet Poesy :— thy hand 
Draws up the veil that curtains earthless joys< 
And ^1' unloosed the busy fancy buoys 

Thro^* river'd vales and woods of Elfinland, 

Where, thron'd on flow'rs with lilly-sceptred hand. 
In graceful ease reclines the lovely Que^i, 

And marks the maidens of her frolic band 
To sweetest notes light foot it on ther green. 

Enchanted Theatre ! thy glittering walls 

From this cold world ^^'^^'^^^ 

— see, see, the curtain falls; 



310 ) 



XI. 



Hark! His that harp whose undulating stringa 
Give music to the wind.— How sudden oft 
From some low shivering note serene and soft 

All wildly swelling loud, and shrill it rings ; 

Then dies away, and choral dirges sings 
As though it hoverM on sonie distant shore 

So mild and many-ton'd: now loud it flings 

A whistling sweep — and now 'tis heard no more. 

Hark— there again !— and faint amid the fall 
Of richest harmony a wayward note] 
I dimly hear in trembling discord float. 

Then melt into the chord, and sink in silence all. 

Oft in the hour of thought, Harp of the wind, 

1 liken thee to my own wayward mind. 



( 311 ) 



XH. 

There "is a iield in Felton'a woodland vale. 
Maids' call it Fairyland ; for there at eve 
They say the elves their merry morrice vreave. 

And fling faint reed-notes on the feeble gale. 

Beneath an oak, to listen Fancy ^s tale. 
There we recline us sometime of the day 
What lime high June, or blithely-yellow May 

Broider the slope-mead and the hedge-row veil. 

And, as we give to life the Poet's page. 
We sigh to think that ne'er but 'neath his reign 

Existence had that peaceful airy age; 

Yet soothly swear that this our present scene 

Mellow 'd by Time in future memory 

Shall with those fairy scenes of Faiicy vie. 



( 313 ) 



XIII. 

Music, to charm or change each Passion's pow*r 
, 'Tis thy surprizing gift. — Thy tsritch^harp rings. 

And down ev'n Grief her crown of cypress flingSj, 
Which Joy engems with many a twinkling flow'erj 
And, ere the motley chaplet is replac'd. 

Pilfers a sprig from off the gloomy bongh 

And with such cunning coils it round his hrow 
That soothly seem his merry flow'rs out-grac'd. 
Still ring thy rich notes, sprinkled wild with ease, 

And Joy and Grief each seem to suck them all. 
While in their eyes, that on each other gaze. 

Trembles the bright drop, tho' it fears to fall. 

But slow or sudden cease thy magic strain, 

.■■"'1- 
Joy takes his blossoms back, and Grief's herself agaiiJ* 



( 313 ) 



XIV. 

Sure, merry May, tliy reign is near allied 

To that of early Love. — Thy subjects play 
Blushing in bloom ; and prank'd in frolic pride 

Right freshly shines thy blithe and breezy day. 

In the green shade, that scarce excludes the ray. 
The insect hum is up ; the brilliant fly 

Lights on a sunny leaf and glistens gay ; 
While the coy blackcap warbles wildly nigh. 
Quick shoots the gossamer all reddening bright 

With sunny glance : the sharp-wingM swallows high 
Sail nimbly ; and full many a floweret's eye 

Looks eager on thy realm with flush delight. 
Sure thou'rt akin to Love, sweet May. — And I 
Perchance could tell some other reasons why. 



£e 



( 314 ) 

XV. 

Go bid the Poet, in its loveliest bloom, 
Look on the Orchard\s blossoms : largely spread 
In white profuse, light pink, and richet red. 

And varying but in beauty and perfume. 

Then tell him of the sad untimely doom 

That sure awaits them. — Millions soon musf shew 

That ev*n coy May can Winter's garb assume. 
And sportive shed her show'rs of mimic snow. 

Many the canker-worm's keen tooth shall gripe^ 
Or choke with tangled web : and many rue 
The blight of insects black : but few ! Oh few 

Shall live to blush in Autumn ruddy ripe. 

Go tell the Poet this.— He'll tell thee straight 

Of other blossoms subject to like fate. 



1 



( 315 ) 



XVI. 

I said unto the Muse, Miise we must part. 

And thouMt be law'd ; for that whereas thy smile 
Hath stoPn my time. Quoth she, with all my heart. 
And so forsooth we parted for a while. 
Then in the books of liaw I took to toil. 
And ConnM his Comments (Oh ! much-minded Sage) 
s That lovM the Muse, but did her lurements foil ; 
Yet peep'd her well-known eye thro' many a page. 
And winkM, as Hwere in scorn. — With that, in rage 
I songht the Justice-Hall : but there she flung 
Her " airy nothings," like friend I)auncey*s tongiie, 
Vers'd witnesses against me did engage. 
Swore by the Bay botanic, that s^e could 
By the Attic Act transport me 'when she would. 



( 316 y 



XVII, 

Th£ Man that*s poor and prosecutes the Mtfsc, 

Said I^ alas ! is like to lose his cause. 
So I resolv'd with her to have a truce. 

Quite well aware I could not learn her laws. 

Tho* some assert that her's, like ours, have flaws. 
Which let her pleaders 'peach. Tm ev'n content 

To own her pow'r, and give my bickerings pause* 
A liegeman to her gambol government. 
For late, as saunt'ring thro' the woods I went. 

She met me smiling. Come, said I, let's plight 
Our troth again. Quoth she (with lips up-bent) 

We're not so near tikin but what we might ! 
So now we lead a joyous jangling life. 
And kiss and quarrel — ^just like man and wife. 



I 



( 317 ) 



XVIII. 

Worm of the night ! thee let the Poet view. 
And learn to point his mental spark aright. 

When on the wayside bank light sprent with dew^ 
Thou kindlest thy green lamp of emerald bright. 
Pure, self-illumin'd ; not with borrowed light 

TinsePd, like busy insects of the day ; 

Thou giv'st a brilliance to the silent night. 

That cheers the homeward traveler on his way. 

Poor worm ! (the pensive poet well might say) 
Ev*n He that lit thee on his humble soil. 

Hung all yon lamps that his high dome array. 
And feeds their fires with everlasting oil. 

And ev'n my lamp, poor worm, like theirs and thine, 
j|- Shines not in vain, if in His praise it shine. 



( 318, ) 
XIX. 

Lord, when I look upon thy starry sky 

With pearls empath'd like scattered dust of gold, 
I humble me, lost in amazement high 

To think what he thy gifted son hath told, . 

Far-sighted Newton ; that round each s^re roll'd 
Un-number'd worlds. And then I marvel sore 

That any eye that can Thy works behold 
Should in the schoolmen's tangled volumes pore. 
That every Age may garble o'er and o'er. 

Yet cannot blot from thine the smallest part, 
^od ! tho' I cannot comprehend their lore, 

I bless thy hallowed name with humble heart ; 
And hope, with them, uncumber'd of my clay, 
SabbathM in peace to see thy bright eternal day. 



( 319 ) 



XX. 

My fairest thus a mystic charm did chalk. — 
— A circle that should ev'ry mind invest. 

For it will tice the merriest fays ; and balk 
The spleenish hags that haunt connubial rest. 
The mightiest Bard without it is unblest . 

Sweet Music hails it as her hallowed cell ; 
It more than magic circle guards its guest. 
And power imparts rude spirits to compell. 

'Tis bright and blushing as the tinted shell, 

Tho' tenderer than the day-moth's downy wings. 
And smear'd with slighter touch ; yet can repell 
(So ye o'erstep it not) the foulest things, — 

— How true, my fairest fabled ! — for I hent 

True Delicacy was the charm she meant. 



( 320 > 



XXI 



Insects tliat flit in ev'iiings yellow beam 
Are my light musings, that in airy maze. 

Thoughtless how short the warm and gilded gleam, 
Buoy their light hey-dance in its mellow blaze; 
Joyous to sun themselves while passing praise 
Of genial goodness large it's lustre flings, 
Tho' then, ev'n then, full many a vacant gaze 

Or disregards or deems them worthless things. 

But soon the North its hissing storm-pipe rings. 
And drives a murky mist across their sky. 

Roughens their down, and rips their gauzy Wings, 
And bids them, rift of joy, dull reptiles die. 

Then flutter, while ye may, ray little lines. 

Sweet is your setting sun, tho' short it shines. 



( 321 ) 

XXII. 

TO Mr. JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS, 
Author of* Safie," and other Poems. 

Reynolds, no more as erst two frolic boys 

By Severn's side our school-day tricks we try. 
For me now holds the love of rural joys. 

Thee city pomp, light Sock, an,d Buskin high; 

Yet Distance dares not bid us leave to ply 
The social sheet, or court our mutual Muse, 

For Distance cannot time-tied souls untie. 
Nor dim the long horizon of their views. 
But never let my woods their leafage lose 

'Till thou ha*st there admir'd ripe August glow j 
Nor shall in turn my friendly foot refuse 

To beat thy threshold with December's snow. 
So shalt thou love my rural joys : and I 
Approve thy scenic pomp, light Sock., and Buskiu high. 



( 822 ) 

XXll.I. 

To R. RYLANCE; then in Scotland. 

Rylance, from sweet Westfelton^s loiie resorts 
To thee two bardliimsnow in union write. 
Much wishing thee Spectator of their sports. 

Sir Roger tliis, anti that Will WiSfBLE hight. 

Whether thou vieW'st Melrose in pate moonlight. 
Or Norham^s tow'rs in yellow ev'ning g}aw. 

Or morning glitter on Loeh Katrine bright. 
Or pondering pacest Rofceby's rnins low. 

We greet thee cordial : for right well we know 

Thee ttot forgetful of the merry glee 
W^hen last warm A»gu«t^s ev'ning sun, as now. 

Sparked our three glasses thro' the greenwood tree. 
Whence we two send, as here our wreaths we twine^ 
This little friendly flower to fade in thine. 



ft] 



( 323 ) 

XXIV. 

FVE bade the Muse a million times farewell^ 

And parted — just as youthful lovers do : 
Yet still on heath, hill, forest, dale, or dell. 

Turn where I will she fascinates my view. 

She adds a bloom to ev'ry object's hue. 
She calls me up the fays of footsteps light. 

That shake, but never shed, the glittering dew, 
All dancing on the hedge-webs, beaded bright. 
Like, as I've read on a blithe Winter's night 

Of the poor maid that nurs'd the fairy-child. 
And with elf-unguent dar'd anoint her sight 

That in a vision'd spell her eyes beguiPd 
For ever doom'd to see the dapper elves 
Tripping where'er she turn'd " o'er tables, stools, and 
shelves," >. 



( 324 ) 

XXV. 

WRITTEN ON A FROSTED WINDOW, 

With a Lady's Bodkin. 

The cbrystal foliage of the frosted pane 

Enflak'd with flow'rs and silvery feathers fair. 
Seems tablet meet my fancies to retain. 

And so I scrawl this idle Sonnet there. 

Belike the ladies' love I might compare 
Blossoms of ice : or like to lover lorn 

Spangling his dreams in Hope's nocturnal star. 
For some more powerful sun to melt at morn. 
Or should some quaint conceit my lines adorn 

I'd say Dan Phoebus doffs the sparry crown 
From Winter's brow, to 'venge his Autumn shorn. 
— But Frost and Flow'rs affirm 'twere fitter done 
To pray the Hand that these frail beauties made. 
In me to raise the flow'rs that neither freeze nor fade. 



( 325 ) 

XXVI. 

TO WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ. 

When first at early age on Isis' shore 

Thy distant notes just reachM my raptar'd ear. 
How little did I dream thy harp would here 

Beside thy hoard, on me it's music pour. 

BlessM be my little lyre, though it no more 
Of honour bring, then from the lustre clear 
That ranks thee, RoscOE, no mean poet's peer, 

T' have caught a ray of radiance on its lore. 

Yet beams (Oh ! brighter, warmer, worthier far) 
Shall gild thy laurel when thy harp's unstrung. — 
But since I cannot their due praise impart. 
Be now thy meed, that certain is the star 

That waits thy welcome.— ifcf2we, for lack of son"-. 
The silent solace of a grateful heart, 

Ff 



( 326 ) 

XXVII. 

TO Mrs. MARY YATES; 

On her sending me a branch of the Crabtree in which 
Shakspeare is said to have slept. 

Poets may proudly prize the laural boiigb. 

And lovers fondly the fair myrtle see. 
But prouder, fonder far, I honour now, - 

Lady, the wilding cyon sent by thee. 

Brought from the branches of that hallowM tree 
That screen'd benighted Shakspeare in its shade. — • 

— Tho' like forsooth, ye thought it meet for me. 
Sour stubborn wight — a crown of crab-tree made ! 
But I shall plant it in some grassy glade 

Where oft at eve I con his peerless page ; 
And there at motled morning, duly paid. 

Shall fondly be my walk in waning age, 
Keminded by the Firmness of the tree. 
And by it's blossoms pure, of Him and Thee. 



( 327 ) 

XXVIIL 

TO Mr. D. PARKES. 

Right sooth the Painter's and the Poet's skill 

From the same source in kindred currents flows ; 
And as the heart-springs pulse it on the will. 

Just so the Canvass or the CiBi^tp shows. 

Thus comes it, Parkes, that on the soft repose 
(Soft as thy tints) of Shenstone's landscape line, 

LuUM in delight thy fancy loves to gloze. 
And thy chaste pencil with his pen combine. 
He was my father's friend, as thou art mine. 

Nor slighted he the mute admiring thought 
AwakM in others by his art divine. 

And hail'd him friend that but the feeliftg caught 
If then the Muses' sons do not disdain 
Who feel what they perform—rm of your train 



( 328 ) . 

XXIX. 

There are who say the Soniiet^s meted maze 
Is all too fetter^ for the Poet^s pow'rs, 
Compell'd to crowd his flush and airy flow'rs. 

Like pots of tall imperials, ill at ease. 

Or should some tiny thought his fancy seize, 

- A violet on a Vase's top it tow'rs. 
And 'mid the mass of leaves he round it showers 

It's little cap and tippet scarce can raise. 

Others assert the Sonnet's proper praise. 
Like petal'd flow'rs, to each its due degree. 

The king-cup five, the pilewort eight bright rays. 
The speedwell four, the green-tippM snowdrop three : 

So mid the Bard's all-petaPd sorts is seen 

The Sonnet — simple flow'ret of fourteen. 



Bala Water, 

A BALLAD ; IN TWO PARTS. 



PART I. 

It was a wealthy Chief of Wales, 
And his a lone and lovely daughter ; 

And his castle stood in the sloping wood 
That skirts the side of Bala Water. 

And many a youth in open truth. 
And many a carl in cant or cunning. 

In vain essayed to win the maid 

Alike their faith or flattery (shuaiiing. 



( 330 ) 

But one, a youthful minstrel wight. 
In her suit for love alone enrolPd hiiia ; 

And soon he believM hi« hope atchievM, 
For so by looks alone she told him. 

Yet feasting in her father's hall, 

Tho' high in heart and social bloss.ora. 

If he met her eye, a silent sigh 

Unheard, unheav'd, came o'er hi« bosom. 

For always on the ebb or flow. 

Poor lovers' hearts are faint or flushing ; 
Like the lights that glide on a mountain's side. 

Or a gust o'er the glassy water brushing. 

But his was the heart of bold emprize. 
And his the head of Fancy's storing. 

And well could his hand the harp command 
To wake the witch-notes, soft or soaring. 

At ev'ning cool his skiff on the pool 

Oft bore the Chieftain's lovely danghter ; 

While the low sunbeam flung it's iong long gleam 
On the glittering waves of Bala IVater, 



( 331 ) 

Then up, and spoke the minstrel youth. 

As light his* oars he feather'd featly. 
While ev'niiig smil'd on the mountains mild. 

And the wide wide lake slept caira and sweetly. 

" Lady, soon yon setting sun 

*' My d^ys in distant lands may lighten, 

" And far froui thee when hira I see, 

" The teardrop in mine eye will brighten ; 

'* Lfcst when I part thy changing heart 
'' Forget the love of him that charms it ; 

'' And like yon hill be dark and chill 
'' As soon as sets the sun that warms it. 

*' Say wilt thou view yon mountains blue 

*' With all the love we late have conn'd them, 

" Led by a spell I need not tell 

*' To thifcjk on ^im that's far beyond them ?" 

He paus'd ; and press'd her ofFerM hand. 

As eager in his ajcm he caught her ; 
While the twilight glanc*d, and the lone star dancM 

On the dimpling calm of Bala Water. 



( 332 ) 

Then up, and spoke the fair maiden. 

Like the rippling wave all soft and sparkling : 

While the thin mist crept where the wide lake slept. 

And the high high hills lookM dim and darkling. 

" Though sun or moon, or dawn or noon 
" Thy days in distant lands may lighten^ 

** When each I see Pll think on thee, 
" Tho' the teardrop in mine eye may brighten, 

*' Nor when we part shall my constant heart 
" Forget the love of him that charms it ; 

" Tho' like you hill it be dark and chill 
*' For lack of thee, the sun that warms it. 

" And I will view yon mountains blue 

" With all the love we late have conned them, 

" Led by a spell I need not tell 
" To think on him that's far beyond them." 

Then up, and spoke the minstrel youth. 

His strokes at stated pauses taking ; 
While the waves of his oar as they reach'd the shore ; 

Were heard o'er the still still waters breaking. 



( 333 ) 

" Lady, a I.ord of Powysland, 

'* I iearn, intends his suit to profier« 
''And high in birth, with all his worth, 

" Himself before thy feet to offer. 

" And tho' to thee a stranger, he 

" Has won thy willing father's favour ; 

" And soon will thine with theirs combine 
" To blot me from thine heart for ever." 

He could no more ; but on his oar 

He lean'd ; then spoke the maiden troubling. 
As awhile unrowM the smooth boat flowed. 
And heard were the small small oar-drops bubbling. 

" 1 know that a Lord of Powysland 

" To me intends his suit to proffer, 
" And high in birth with all his worth 

*' Himself before my feet to offer. 

" A stranger he indeed to me, 

" Yet tho' he win my father's favour, 

" Fear not what they can do or say, 
" rU hold thee in my heart for ever. 



m 



( 334 ) 

" My fatlier*s wealth and lands are large, 
" And I'm his sole and darling daughter ; 

" And to live with thee is enough for me 
" On the lonely side of Bala Water." 

The youth he plied to reach the side. 

Where the crisp white waves on the sands were 
a-breaking. 
While his light oars glanc*d, and the moonbeam dancM 
Where the curl'd curl'd lines were the lake a-slreaking 

Then softly sigh'd the minstrel youth. 

As beneath the moonlight wall he brought her ; 
Said, " adieu, ray sweet ; 'till again we meet, 
" ril think on thee and Bala Water." 



PART II. 

It was a Lord of Powysland 

That wish'd to wed the Chieftain's daughter ; 
But not for her land he sought her hand. 

Nor all her wealth on Bala Water. 



( 335 ) 

But *twas all for the sake of her sweet body, 
As Fame afar he had heard record her ; 

From Dee^s high sea to Dovey*s bay 

She was callM— " The Blossom of the Border," 

And he, tho' high in titled worth, 

Yet^held in his heart a worth more wealthy ; 

And Jhe spark of his eye spoke him merry and sly. 
And the bloom of his cheek spoke him young and 
healthy. 

But far away and over sea 

From early years he long had journeyed ; 
And late, to gain his sire's domain. 

He with the Summer's sun returned. 

It was all in the merry Csristmas time. 

When up the Chief, and spoke his daughter ; 

While tlie breakers white rode the rude waves* height 
On the rough rough tide of Bala Water. 

" It is thy birth-day, my dsrling child, 

" And pass'd liave thrice sev'n Winter's o'er thee ; 
" And the feast shall delight my hall to-night, 

'* And lords and barous bend before thee. 



( 336 ) 
" I learn that a Lord of Powysland ^^ «f M 

" Will grace our feast with kind compliance r 
" And tho' high in birth, and large in worth, 

" He seeks thy heart in love's alliance. 

" And many a peer will, I ween, he here, 

" And many a knight to thy hand aspiring j 
" But thy will shall be free, my child, for me. 



— J — — f — J 

" To use it at thy own desiring/' 



Then she tenderly kissM her hoary father. 
And a bright bright tear he shed as he felt it ^ 

Like the drop that flows on the morning rose 
From the white white frost as the sunbeams melt it. 

The Lady went up to her high chamber. 

And with gems and armlets fair she fraught her ; 

While the harps rang loud, and the courtly crowd 
FilPd the gay gay hall of Bala Water, 

And one by one she refused them all, 
Tho' smiling sweet and courteous ever ; 

Said, " 1 mean no slight to lord or knight, 
" But he's not here that wins my favour." 



II 



( 337 ) 

Then smilM well pleas'd her old father. 
On the Lord of Powysland he thought him ; 

For he knew that he there would anon appear. 
And with eager eye at the door he sought hita. 

And now by the cold cold light of the moon 

To the long lake side went the Chieftain's daughter, 

For on this birth-night was her minstrel wight 
Pledged to-appear at Bala Water, 

Then up, and spoke the fair maiden. 

As he came o'er the windy waters tossing ; 

While the white spray splash'd, and the breakers dash'd 
On his light light skiff the wild v/aves crossing. 

'' Oh ! welcome thou to my father's hall, 
" Tho' the Lord of Powysland be in it, 

" For him before and a million more, 

" Ask thou my heart, and tliou shalt win it." 

Then before them all in her father's hall. 
He graceful bent, and as'k her favour ; 

And the lovely flush of her blooming blush 
Assur'd him of her love for ever. 



*., 



\. 



( 338 ) 

He knelt and kist lier beaded wrist. 

And did with ardent eyes adore her; 
Tho* the potent Lord of Powysland 

In the bloom of youth was there before her. 

Then up, and spoke the minstrel wight> 
As a harp he caught and swept it featly. 

While the brow archM high o'er his busy busy eye. 
And the loud loud notes rang rich and sweetly. 

" love^ we'll lead a merry merry life, 

" As Ihe year runs round its charms a-changing ; 

" In early Spring when the sweet birds sing, 

" Thro' primrose paths by the green thorn ranging. 

" When ihe moiled sky is in hay-time high, 
" Oil swaths of red"toppM grass reclining, 

*' My roundelay shall bloom for the day, 
'' Like the wreathe of field-fiow'rs thou'It be twining. 

^' And ill Autumn's prime, in the sunny sunny time, 
*' We'll mount the hills of blooming heather : 

*' And our Winter^s night shall be warm and bright, 
" As the blilhe harp rings to the wbistling weather. 






( 339 ) 

'* For I love the life ia freedom rife, 
" And aye in social joys enroll rne ; 

" Or afar to roam, or be merry at home, 
*• Nor lives there a lord that dares controul me. 

" Then ye merry merry minstrels strike the string 
'* In praise of the noble Chieftain's daughter ; 

" For I am the Lord of Powysland, 

'* And mine is the Maid of Bala Water." 

The father he smil'd on his darling child. 
And bending shed his blessings on her ; 

For all this was a plot of his own, I wot. 
Or knight or noble ne*er had won her. 

And then as the Lord of Powysland 

To the festive board all graceful brought her. 

The minstrels sung, and the high harps rung 
To the Youth and the Bride of Bala Water.^ 



;^atrtifial0* 



Sweet Fancy, free advance 
With light and lively air ; 
For on thy brow the fresh flow'rs dance, 
And ev'ry flow'r is fair. 

Thine are the sunny hours 
That sweet and soon are past ^ 
But, tho' as fading as thy flow'rs. 
They're lovely while they last. 

Then here delay thy foot 
And here thy garlands twine. 
For Reason's ray ne'er ripen'd fruit 
So rich as flow'rs in thine. 



( 341 ) 

r r 

iu 

A blossoniM wreathe of rich perfume 

I for my fairest wove ; 
She to her beauty gave it's bloom. 

It's transcience to her love. 
I sent her then a pearl to prize. 

With which she soon did part ; 
But kept it's brilliance in her eyes. 

It's hardness in her heart, 

/ A /^ 

Itt. 

Oh ! 'twas a day of dear delight 
That musing I shall fondly find 
As back I send my longing sight 
A landmark on the mind ; 
A halcyon bay 
On Memory's sea 
Where the sky breaks blue aud fine. 

Where the banner of Hope will nimbly play 
Seen afar in the sweet sunshine. 



( 342 ) 



ft. 

Nor clock nor calendar 1*11 seek 

When thou, alluring nymph, art nigh. 
For May lives charterM in thy cheeky 
And Morning in thine eye. 



Ripe Autumn's berries red and bright 

Thy luscious lips may well beguile ; 
Thy curls the clouds of soft twilight. 
And Summer's eve thy smile. 



The day and year have all combiii'd 

Their beauties in each outer part :- 
But oh ! — — 'ts midnight in thy mind. 
And Winter in thy heart. 



( 343 ) 



Oh ! seek ye where the mermaids are 

That braided erst their bands ? 
Down to the Summer sea repair 
"Where yonder shapely females fair. 
Tread on the trackless sands. 

And forms ye'Il find more glib and gay 
Thau e'er were syrens of the sea. 

There snowy teeth surpass the pearl 

Below the wave that dwells. 
Their lucid locks more curious curl. 
Their coral lips more flush unfurl 
Then e'er did vermil sheUs ; 

And oh I their eyes of heavenly hue. 
Out-azure Ocean's deepest blue. 

Then seek their rounds of revelries. 
Their pranks and pleasures higfc^ 



n 



( 344 ) 

Gloze on their mermaid melodies. 
Their wiles and winsome witcheries. 
And hap ye'ii heave a sigh 

To think on the sea-maids of yore 
Amid these syrens of the shore; 

ALCAIC. 

Virgo, veni, nam purpureis venit 
Pubens Aprilis floribus : et lubens 
Mecum tenellas (dum tenellasj 
Carpe rosas violasque, Virgo. 



Et sparge, Virgo, turn violas, rosas ; 

Et, dico dum quam blandula, dulcia I 

Die, — ut venustas his odorque, 

Pubet amor perit et pueliis. 



3Sottntiela|)* 



'Tis life to young lovers in early Spring time. 

In the Spring time all so fair. 
Thro' the meadows to go -where the primroses grow, 

A-breathing the mild mild air ; 
When the butterfly comes, and the great bee hums 

Round the sallow bush gosling-clad. 
And a-tweet tweet tweet, go the little birds sweetj 

For the heart. Oh I the heart it is glad; 

'*Tis life to young lovers in high Summer daya. 

In the Summer days all so fine. 
All lithe to be laid in the green green shade. 

Or bask in the broad sunshine. 
When the hawk sails high in the blue blue sky 

With light clouds thinly clad. 
And the merry flies brisk on the warm wall frisk. 

For the heart. Oh ! the heart it is glad. 



( 346 ) 
^Tis life to young lovers in deep Winter nights. 

In the Winter nights all so long. 
When the fire shines light on the faces so bright 

Of the gay gay social throng ; 
With the feast, and tlie dance, and the sparkling glauca* 

Of the damsels deftly glad. 
When the sharp notes ring on the minstrePs string. 

For the heart. Oh ! the hea,rt it is glad, 

*Tis life with young lovers in every time. 

And the year it runs blithely about ; 
For the heart that is honest is happy within. 

And all is then happy witliout : 
Like the glad Sun still, let Earth turn as she will. 

Sees her face in his beams ever clad ; 
So the eye of Delight sees ev^ry thing bright. 

For the heart, Oh ! the heart it is glad. 



cms. 



u 



Enalish Air. 
The soft flowing Avon, 



HARMONIZEIX. 



1. 

Come Spirits of Fancy^ green Naiads/ and Fays, 
By the soft-flowing Avon sweet strains let us raise. 
Round the shrine of ourShakspeare bright ivy we'll braid 
And tear-strew the turf where his ashes are laid. 
And when the spire blushing ;greets morning again 
They'll be glittering and pure — like the drops of his pen« 

2. 

See, the Gossamer-Fairy her shuttle untwines 
To shoot like his fancy, and gleam like his lines ; 
And, like her unassuming, he left at the dawn 
His tissue to shine, when to rest he was gone. 
For wherever he wander'd (so playful his powVs 1} 
In a dew-bedropp'd web-lace he linked alt the flowers. 



( 348 ) 

Minstrel immortal ! of Nature possess'd 
To lift the elated, and soothe the distress'd. 
Thy Harp on the heart-strings can symphonies shed 
That may seraph the living, and soar with the dead 
Where imparadis'd poets with angels combine 
In full Choir of such notes as here tinkled in thine. 






Torraid y Dydd, 
The Break of Day. 



WELSH AIR. 



Though chaste the blush of morning 

And sweet the breathing dew. 
Yet sweeter breathed the maiden mild 

With cheek of chaster hue. 
Ah ! would I still had slumber'd 

In dreams of dear delight ; 
Or oh ! that Truth would fix by day 

What Fancy forms by night, 



1 



( 34& y^ 

Then had I still been gazing, 

Beyond ambition glad 
To sit beside her blooming breast 

In lilly kerchief clad. 
But since the morn denies me 

These dear delights to see. 
The day may break to all beside. 

But needs not break to me. 

2. 

Though dreams are but deceivers 

Whose joys do not endure, 
I love them better tho* they're false. 

Then sorrows that are sure. 
Beside the harp melhought her. 

And oh ! 'twas joy to, spy 
The spark that warm'd her heaving heart 

Light up her laughing eye. 
KissM by her cunning fingers 

How leap'd each living string ! 

And rich the music in mine ear 

Yet sweetly seems to ring. 

Hh 



( 360 ) 

But since the morn denies me 
These dear delights to see. 

The day may break to all beside, 
But needs net break to rae. 



tu. 



SCOTTISH ATE. 
1. 

I bae lost a hearty sweet lassie, here. 

And gill 'tis faund by thee. 
Until I do reclaim it^ dear. 

Oh '. keep it safe for me : 
Boi gin thy ain the signs approve, 

Thai mark it to be mine, 
I'll gie thee a* for thine, love. 

Ml ^ie thee a' for ihine. 



Yei, lassie, oh ! frae' me, 1 fear. 
Thy heart wad soon be gane ; 

Then keep it for thy aiu, dear. 
Oh ! keep it for thy ain ; 



( 351 ) 
And sin they baith bin gi*en to rove, 

I ween Hwere wiser done. 
To bind them baiih in one, love. 

To bind them baith in one. 



lb. 



IRISH AIR. 
1. 

Tho' ray lodging is on the cold ground, Annabelle, 

And the chilly wind sighs in the tree. 
Neither cruel nor cold is it found, Annabelle, 

When I think on thy falsehood and thee : 
For the youth that believes thy affection and faith. 

Only while yonder moon goes her round. 
May rely on the wind, and repose on the heath, 

Tho* his lodging be on the gold ground. 

2. 

Oh 1 my passion was tender and true, Annabelle^ 
And my heart, tho' 'tis broken, is thine ; 

But as true-love thy own never knew, Annabelle, 
'Tia no matter to tell thee of mine. 



( 362 ) 

Wily Woman ! I weep that a. creature so fair 

Can to Love give a basilisk wound^ 
That has only for solace and peace to repair 

To a lodging within the cold ground. 

3. 

Was it not in the jessamine walk, Annabelle, 

By the bow'r on a sweet Summer morn. 
When the snowy stars gemm'd the green stalk, Annabelle' 

That thy faith and affection were sworn ? 
Yet the jassamine fiow'r is in blow on the bow*r. 

And a wealthier suitor is found ; 
But before it is faded thy love will be o'er — 

And ray lodging be on the cold ground. 



a Cruel Case. 



Two maids adorn'd with different grace. 
With one poor bard are smit : 

One tries to win him with her face. 
The other with her wit. 



( 353 ) 
And how can either he deny ? 

When he alike esteems 
Reflected light in Wisdom's eye. 

Or warmth in Beauty's beams I 

He would indeed, if but he might, 
Give each alternate sway. 

By taking one to rule the night. 
And one to rule the day. 

Yet both, intent his heart to rale. 
Are hoth alike rejected ; 

Because — the fair one is a fool. 
The learned one — affected. 

For how can either be preferred. 

When he alike disdains 
Ev'n Sense with affectation blnrr'd^ 

And beauty without brains ? 



HOfV TO KILL. 

There is a sort of busy worm 
That will the fairest books deform. 

By gnawing boles throughout them ; 
Alike through ev'ry leaf they go. 
Yet of it*s merits nought they know. 

Nor care they ought about them. 

Their tasteless tooth will tear and taint 
The poet^ patriot, sage or saint. 

Nor sparing wit nor learning : — 
Now if you'd know the reason why. 
The best of reasons Til supply — 

^Tis Bread to the poor vermin. 

Of pepper, snaff, or ^bacco-smoke. 
And Russian-calf, they make a joke. 

Yet why should sons of Science 
These puny, rankling reptiles dread — <» 
'Tis but to let their books be read. 

And bid the worms defiance. 



MYSELF, 

Poor monodist 1 
How few will care ray lays to list 

As wandering as my walk : 
And free (were friend but there) I wist. 

As transitory talk^ 
For I'm a solitary one 
Given to lounge alone. 

Through tangled dells. 
By mossy wells ; 
Or bask at ease 
In sunny days 
Beside the mountain stone. 

Not that 1 lag with leaping heart to greet 
Companion boon, or festal gay. 
But that the rolling year has many a day 

When those that make such meetings>sweet 
Are far away. 



{ 356 ) 

Alone, 
When solace of society Pve none, 
I converse bold with every thing I see; 
Aye, ev'ry tree, and brook, and mossy stone 
Are friends to me. 

I launch that wond^rous barque, the mind, 

Toss'd on a tide of thought. 
To sail before the wavering wind 
By Fancy's canvass caught ; 
'Till far on wide Imagination's seas 
Reason the rudder stays. 
And home the long-lost vessel guides 
From azure isles, thro' stormy tides. 
With fairy treasures fraught. 

I know not why. 
It is not that my temper's shy. 

Nor that my heart is, proud ; 
But sooth I can not bit the way 
To mix with minds of ev'ry day 

in converse of the crowd. 



( 35- ) 

Ev*n at Ihe board 

OfHb'rallord 
With many a raansion'd guest at ease reclin'd 
'Spite of the glittering glasses gay. 

My absent mind 
Will slip its cable, and put off to sea. 

The bustle of the Bar, . 
And all it's wordy -war, 
Keft of its spoils, yea of its honours reft. 

For thee I left. 
Sweet mountain Muse, daughter of Liberty, 
For thee I've borne 
The proud world's scorn ; 
Reproach by Friendship thrbwn ; 
And ev'n the tenderest Father's frowia 
I've borne for thee. 

Not that I ask the honour of a name 
Among the sons of soul 

In the bright roll - 
That decorates the echoing dome of Fame. 



( 358 ) 

Nor seek I that my soisg 
From the unthinking throng 
One kindred chord of approbation call.— 
—The breeze-awakened harp as well 
May softly swell 
Fast by the stunning roar of Rhaidr's thundering fall. 

But give me, mountain Muse, 

Whether I chuse, 
Perch'd on the point of Snowdon^s topmost height 

My keen-eyed ken to throw 
Around the mighty map that lies below ; 

Or gaze with aching eye 
On all the vast concavity of sky. 

Myself an undististguisli'd mite ; ■ 



■Or if I watch Ijie driving storm. 
Sheltering v/iJhln some cavern warm 



•o 



That opens where the Ocean raves 
And tumbles tossing wide it's weltering waves 

"With ceaseless roar 

Lashing the shore, 
While dim-discernM some labouring vessel heaves. 
And beading strains before the battering rain : 



( 359 ) 

While the scream is heard 
Of the grey sea-bird 
That rides the rolling main : — 



— Or whether at the hour of noon 
AH in the sultry day of June, 
Beneath the broad and mantling shade 
Of some green sycamore Pm laid. 
Upon whose pendant flow'rs I see 

High in the boughs the dangling bee,- 

— Give me I say, O mountain Muse, 
WhateTer scene I chance to chuse. 
If not like poet to impart. 

To gaze with poet's eye, and feel with poet's heart. 

But sometimes if at eve 
ThouM'st give me but to touch the lyre 
With something more than vulgar fire. 
And some light lay in venial verse to weave. 
Time's weary wings it would with plumes supply 
In lagging hours : 
Or should some twin^soulM friend be nigh. 
Lest Time unhoaour'd and too swiftly fly. 

Load him with flow'rs. 



( 360 ) 

The child 
Oil whom a mother never smiPd, 
Can little feel that mother's loss. 

So I, whose name 
Has never known the smile of Fame, 
Care not what clouds her dawn may cross j 
Without her feeble ray, 
(liike that of March's sickly day) 
Content unhonour'd my short round to roam. 
There is a steadier star will light 
My edge of night. 
And swccUy guide me to my long long koine« 



%l)t mm aSritie, 



A FAIPtY BALLAD. 



" Time travels in divers paces with divers persons : 1*11 
tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, 
who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal." 

As YOU Lire it. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Time has no existence but with motion and matter: 
with the Deity, " whose centre is everywhere, and circum- 
ference nowhere," — and with " millions of spiritual creatures'* 
(the emanations and ministers of Power, Wisdom, and Be- 
nevolence) Duration is without Time. To avoid the toe- 
familiar introduction of such Beings into light and amusive 
poetry, an attempt is made to illustrate this by a Fairy 
Ballad. Merlin is in love with an Elfin Lady, and in her 
bower, just as the sun is disappearing below the hills, re- 
r quests a sight of Fairyland. The Lady takes a glass Goblet 
aad ivory Bali, determined, that when she strikes the one 

li 



( 362 ) 

and flings the other into the air, he shall pass Twenty-one 
years in the Land of Elves, and return ere the Sun has 
set, and before the Glass ceases to ring, or the Ball drop 
to the earth. This instantly takes place, and they are in 
Fairyland, where, while he is delighted with a fanciful dance 
representing the Four Seasons, he rs told that Seven Years 
are already flown. Enraptured with happiness, he commits 
a slight intrusion, by snatching a kiss from his Lady; 
this in Fairyland, where all is perfect delicacy, is punished 
by Seven Years exile on a barren heath, where he calculates 
Time by his skill in Astronomy; on repentance, he is led 
to the bridal feast; where he is entertained by a botanical 
concert of musical instruments composed of the tubes and 
bells of blossoms. Ke now petitions that the next Seven 
Years pass neither rapid as the first, nor wearisome as the 
last, but just as with mankind. This is granted ; and he 
lives Seven Years with his Lady, and has seven children : 
'till remembering his friends in Wales, he wishes to revisit 
them, and instantly finds himself in the bower, where the 
Sun had not set, — where the Ball had just fallen, — and the 
Goblet was still faintly ringing. 

The thought is taken from the beautiful Tale of the 
Dervise quoted in the Spectator ; and the moral intended to 
be enforced, is, the Equal Distribution of Happiness, and 
the duty of Man contentedly to fulfil, in whatever situation 
placed, the intention of Providence. 

The Ballad was composed on a bench in the beautiful 
grounds of Mrs. Flayman, at Gresford, in the summer of 
1818, in consequence of some delightful conversation ; and 
is respectfully inscribed to that Lady by the Author* 



( 363 ) 
Young Merlin he sat with the White Lady, 

All in her summer bower. 
And the redbreast sung, and the suckle-stalk sprung 

As the humble-bee lit on its flower. 

The ev'ning was calm, and the air was balm. 
And the sun's upper rim was bright 

As it melted away o*er the ^mountains grey 
In a line of burning light. 

Now shew me (quoth he) the Fairyland, 
Since thou art a maid of their race^ 

For I fain would see that airy country f 
That wots not of Time nor Place. 

Thou shalt visit it now (quoth the White Lady) 
While this Goblet of Glass- is ringing. 

Ere this ivory Ball to the earth shall fall 
That now in the air I am flinging. 

Then smartly she struck the Goblet of Glass 
With her nail so pink and so white; 

And keenly it rung, as the Ball she flung 
Aloof in the air upright. 



( 364 ) 

On a sudden he seemM in a far country. 
Where the light of the broad noon day 

Was such as is seen thro' the silken green 
Of the young beech leaves in May, 

Now arise, and have with me, thou sage Merlin, 

(Quoth his Elfin Lady in white) 
For the feast it is set, and the Fairy-guests met 

To welcome an earthly wight. 



Either stately as man, or in stature a span 
The good Fairy-folk may appear. 

But shapely and slim aye in feature and limb, 
With all things according clear. 



On two palfreys they sprang, and the silver bits rang. 
As o'er mountain and moor they rode ; 

They gallop'd across the soft deep moss. 
But it sunk not where they trode. 

And everywhere small shrilly and clear 

He heard the Fairy-fo!k singing 
'Mid the silvery swells of pipes and bells 

That around him for ever were ringing. 



1 



( 365 ) 
The voices he heard were sweet as the bird 

That sings the last vesper mass ; 
And the shrill notes clear that fell on his ear 

SeemM touch'd on bells of glass. 

At the Fairy-feast the mortal guest 

By the side of his Elf-maid lay ; 
And their delicate fare it was rich and rare. 

And the feasters were gallant and gay. 

« Now shew him the Dance of the Four Damsels 
" That Poets are blessM but to see.'' 

So he laid his head, as the Fairy ring spread. 
At the feet of his White-Lady, 

The first was a maid on whose tinting cheek 

Love's first faint dawn was seen. 
And her fresh robe's studs were of young rosebuds 

Where the red peep'd through the green. 

The next was right gay all in flaunting array. 
With blossoms all flushing and fair. 

And her green gauzy veil did perfumes exhale 
Floating light on the languid air. 



( 366 ) 

The third was in brown^ edged with soft saffron. 

And stately her stature and limb. 
And the ripe sweet charms of her ankles and arms 

Were beaded with red berries trim. 

The last was in white, but rosy and bright, 
Crown'd with holly-sprigs berry-emboss'd ; 

And a feather of snow wav'd over her brow 
Spangled with spikes of frost. 

They saluted, they set, they fell back, and they met. 
Around him full seven times flinging ; 

While everywhere small shrilly and clear 
He heard the Fairy-folk singing, 

^Mid the silvery swells of pipes and bells 
That around him for ever were ringings — 

When pleasures refinM hold the delicate mind 
How the high Tide of Time runs by ! 

And the bounding soul with her sails all full 
Mounts the bright sunny billows of Joy. 



( 367 ) 

Thou art little aware (quoth the Elfin Fair) 
While the dance of these maids went on. 

That to Man in the dull cold world thou hast left. 
Seven times four Seasons are gone. ' 

The Fairy-folks laughed at the youthful Bard, 
And his constancy lauded with cheers. 

His vows to have paid to the same fair maid. 
And have sighed at her feet seven years. 



" If so rapid and rife pass the years of this life, 

" 'Tis fit I the rest employ.'' 
So he caught at her breast that he fain would have prest. 

And hastened the height of his joy. — 

Away shot the Fays in a sparkle of rays. 

And rapidly flashed their flight ; 
Like the noon-sun's glance on a burnished lance 
That a moment but meets the siorht. 



He gazed all around the dull heathy ground, ' 
Neither tree nor bush was there, | 

But wide wide wide all on every side 
Spread the heath dry brown and bare. 



( 368 ) 

Yet everywhere small shrilly and clea' 

He heard the Fairy-folk singing 
'Mid the silvery swells of pipes and bells 

That around him for ever were ringing. 

The sun went down, and the moon's pale ray, 
With the small stars rose in the sky ; 

Yet night by night, and day by day. 

Save the sun's bright rule, and the moon's pale sway 

And the twinkling stars in mute array. 
No other change met his eye. 

Yet Merlin he markM with a Sage's skill 

The moon both waxed and waned ; 
And the suij so bright of his noontide height 

Full slowly lost and gain'd. 



And the starry Lyre by the Dragon's gyre 
On the early night that shone. 

Seven times gave place to the Pleiades, 
And Orion's jewel'd zone. 



( 369 ) 
Still he wander'd around the dull heathy ground 

So broad bare brown and dry ; 
Tho' night by night, and day by day. 
Save the sun's bright rule, and the moon's pale sway. 
And the twinkling stars in mute array. 

No other change met his eye. 

Yet everywhere small shrilly and clear 

He heard the Fairy-folk singing 
'Mid the silvery swells of pipes and bells 

That around him for ever were ringing. 

At length it seem'd Seven weary years 

Brought on his hour of grace. 
For in robes of air his I*ove came there 

With angel form and face. 

" Oh ! Lady, take me once again, 
*' Punish'd these Seven long years. 
And rU hang each flower that decks thy bower 
" With true repentant tears.'* 






( 370 ) 

" Who have not others' faults forgiven 

" On true repentance shown, 
" Shall they presume to hope from Heaven 

" Forgiveness on their own ! 

" Dear Merlin, I come to hail thee home, 
"Where waits our bridal cheer; 

" Seven minutes it seems, thy sad mind deems 
" A weary Seven long year. 

*' And dull and drear as Seven lona^ year 

" Is a minute of mental woe 
" Compared to the flight of the Seasons light 

'MVhen Love's mild Zephyrs blow. 

" Time's hour-glass sands in Sorrow's hands 

*' Full sad and slowly pass ; 
*' But rapid in sun the bright grains run 

"If Pleasure shake the glass. 



I " To souls in array of mortal clay 

' " All lots alike are given ; 

^ " And though proud man for a century's span 

* " Through long vain years be driven. 



( 37!. ) 
" The light fly gay that fills his day 
" Has an equal glimpse of Heaven. 

" For of earth refined the immortal mind 

" In part with Angels peers ; 
" And ages may seem but as minutes to them, 

" And a minute a million years. 

" An acorn cup, and a giant's bowl 

'^When full are equal so; 
"And the fly of a day, and the old man grey, 

" Are alike in weal or woe. 

'* He longest lives that strongest strives 

" To fill his appointed lot ; 
" And whose life is best at the hour of rest 

" Has the surest guerdon got.*' 

So they hasted away to the bridal gay. 
The gallants their fair friends bringing ; 

While everywhere small shrilly and clear 
He heard the Fairy-folk singing 

'Mid the silvery swells of pipes and bells 
That around him for ever were ringing. 



I 



( 372 ) 

A drowsy old drone in a churchly tone 

In a cowl of monkshood blue. 
With a ring studded sheen with beetle-pearls green 

Mutter'd over the wed-rites due. 

The rites complete. Elf-ringers eight 

Silk ropes of gossamer flung 
O'er the harebells small and throatwort tall. 

And a smart little peal they rung. 

On archangel pips with purple lips. 

And dead-nettles yellowy white. 
Their trebles shrill the Fairies trill. 

And red honey-tubes unite. 

And others have shorn nasturtium's horn. 

And foxglove's crimson thumbs. 
Which deep they sound for tromps profound. 

And poppy-tops beat for drums. 

Streak'd buzz-flies sing on still steady wing 

As pois'd they seem to sleep; 
And bright flies too green gold and blue. 

And the belted ground-bee deep. 



1 



( 373 ) 

Then brilliant aJvanc'd the zephyrine dance. 

And livelier far did it seem 
Than bright gnats weave on Autumn^s eve 

Up and down in the long sunbeam. 

But when they press'd the couch of rest 

Such chords minute and clear 
Breath'd all around as only sound 

In sleeping Poet's ear : 

Chords without Air, but richer far 

Than breeze of Summer flings 
Commingling all in swell and fall 

O'er well-accorded strings. 

'Till deep and loud the choral crowd 

Seem'd holy Organ's peal. 
Then pass'd away, like the breath of May 

Along an evening vale. 

Then in lily-bed laid Sage Merlin he pray'd 

That befall him or moan or mirth. 

His years might go neither swiftly nor slow. 

But all one as with mortals on earth. 
Kk 



( 374i ) 

His suit was prefer'd, and his pray'r was heard. 

And he livM with his dame adorM 
^Till seven years pass'd, and with joy at last 

Seven rosy babes smil'd at his^ board. 

' 'Till one nijjht at the side of his Elfin Bride 



For a moment he mourn'd his lot 
As he thought on the vales and green mountains of Wales 
And his friends so long forgot. 

For blithe are the vales and green mountains ofWa'es 

And its blithe to sojourn there. 
So blithe is the dine with the wit and the wine. 

All to Minstrel memory dear. 

Thou shalt visit them now (quoth the White Lady) 

Nor lack our bliss so bland. 
For the world above to those who love 

Is all one as the Fairyland. 

Then suddenly there small shrilly and clear 
The Fairy-folk ceasM their singing. 

And the silvery swells of pipes and bells 
No longer around him were ringing. 






( 375 ) 

And the Fairyland gay all melted away 

la a misty vapour curlM ; 
And his opening eyes beheld with surprize 

The ligrht of this lonsf-left world. 



'o' 



And he saw that he sat with tlie White Lady 

Ail in her summer bower, 
And the redbreast sung, and the snckle-stalk sprung 

As the humble-b^e left its flower. 

The evening was calm, and the air was balm 
And the sun's upper rim was bright 

Nor had melted away o'er the mountains grey- 
Its line of burning light. 

For to earth but that moment had dropp'd the Ball 

That aloof the Lady did fling; 
And the Goblet so frail that she struck with her nail 

But that moment had ceasM to ring. 



^titire00 



TO THE 

W[el0!) Sarp. 

Being the Introductory Poem to the British 
Melodies ;^ 

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO 

THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES. 

Sweet Harp of Wales, 

Forgive a Border-Minstrel young. 
That tunes thy tones all slack and sleeping. 

And wakes thy wires to Saxon tongue. 
Thy chords with feeble fingers sweeping. 



* The first Twenty-Six of the following Songs are pub- 
lished with the Music, by and for Clementi, London, in Two 
Volumes, under the Title of "A Selection of British Me. 
lodies, with Symphonies, Harmonies, and Accompaniments 
by Mr. Clifton, &c." That work was patronized by the 
all beloved Princess Charlotte of Wales 5 and ceased at hev 
lamented death. 



( 3771) 
Though thine old oak 
Is bare and broke. 
And sad scath'd branches long have crown'd it. 
Some few green sprays 
In summer days 
All glossy green wave light around it. 

Of these 1^1 pluck, and prank thee fair. 
And golden Mistletoe TU bring thee. 

With ivy-bands to bind it there. 
Though I to Saxon voice must ring thee. 
And if short while 
These garlands smile. 
They'll better suit the songs I sing thee. 

Sweet Harp of Wales. 



Dear Harp of Wales, 

I owe thee much. 
For she that bids me now address thee. 

With almost angel touch 
Has made my rapturM bosom bless thee. 

When from the canting crowd escap'd 

My all-delighted heart has leaped 



i 



( 378 ) 

To greet with every Muse 
In Pleasure's hour 
At the fairy bower 
Among the meeting hills of shady Vallecruse. 

Though all too proud of praise. 
With such to cherish Friendship's flame. 

While such allow my lays 
One ivy leaf to claim. 

Oh ! then to me 
Thy minstrelsie 
Is sweeter far than Fame, 

Dear Harp of Wales. 



Sad Harp of Wales, 
Thy wild and mournful melodies. 

Though muffled now in silent slumbers. 

Have gain'd the good and won the wise 

To weep and worship at thy numbers. 
By him the V/arrior-Bard of yore 
That waiFd his twciily sous and four: 
Atd Him in watery cradle fousid 
By royal hand with honours crownM 



( 379 ) 

By broken-hearted Hoers urn 
Clos'd by cold Myvanwy^s scorn : 
By all the Bards of sorrowing swells^ 
Mournful and many as thy dells. 

How oft have they thy dirges swept 
To heaving hearts indignant glowing. 

And eyes like trickling wells that wept 

To feel thy sounds of sorrow flowing. 

Sad Harp of Wales. 

High Harp of Wales, 
By firm conflicting Freedom strung 

How has thy Spirit sped her ! 
Thy strains to panting patriots flung 
Have on to conquest led her. 
Great Bards of Cambria ! your grand requiems loud 
HymnM in the mountain-torrents' roar I hear: 
See monuments in Snowdon's summits proud. 

While setting sunbeams write your stories there. 
Though flown your souls of eagle-wing. 
Still neiglib'ring nations list with wonder. 
Those sounds that calPd a ruthless king 
To cut thy glorious chords asunder. 

High Harp of Wales, 



( 3S0 ) 

Proud Harp of Wales, 
Come, lie at the feet 
Of thy Princess sweet. 
Of worth beyond thy power to praise her 
Protected by 
Her courtesy 
Who takes thy nation's name to grace her; 
Around her realm thy Spirit spread, 

' Let Freedom, Love, and Concord swell thee 5 
And to revenge thy Bards that bled — 
< — Delight the Land that could not quell thee. 

Proud Harp of Wales, 



1 



aSrtttsI) MtloWs. 



I. 

mt to !^armanp. 

MELODY ^ Gorhoffed Gwyr Harlech. C 

\ < WELSH, 

HARMONIZED. 5 The March of the Men of Harlech. C 

Harmony, from Heav'n descended, &c. 
(See page 21.) 



II. 



MELODY 



1 Torriad y Dydd, C 

. > -^ WELSH. 

3 The Ikeak of Day. ( 



Though chaste the blush of Morning, &e. 
(See page 348.) 



MELODY. 



( 382 ) 
III. 

J Codiad yr Hedt/dd. 

3 The Rising of the Lark. 
1. 
Light off my lowly bed, 
When dapple dawn is fleckM with red. 
On russet wings I rise; 
Long ere the earliest beam 
Has put Aurora's pearls a-flame, 
I meet it in the skies. 
Quivering, mounting, free free sailing. 

Sweet sweet notes I scattering sound. 
Glimmering, circling, shrill peal pealing, 
'Mid the mottles lost and found, 
Wiih chear chear chear 
I warble clear 
Around, around, around. 

2. 

Wlien rye begins to ear. 
And through the blades red poppies peer 
With corn-flow'rs heav'nly blue. 



( 383 ) 

Tve seen the Poet stay 
Beside the fragrant hawthorn spray. 
And keep me keen in view. 
Haply, on my frolicks gazing. 

In my life he marks his own ; 
Few ohserving, fewer praising 
When my little all is thrown, 
UnmissM I stop. 
And sudden drop 
Adown, adown, adown.. 

IV. 

f Llwyn Onn. 1 
MELODY. < > WELSH. 

t The Ashen grove. ) 

Through the tints of the rainbow, &c. 
(See page 10.) 

V. 

C!)aral g^ong of tl)e Mixit^ 

OVER THE GRAVE OF 

g)ljafe£^peare. 

MELODY f 1 

^ Thou soft-flowing Avon. > English. 

HARMONIZED. (^ J 

Come, Spirits of Fancy, &c. 
(See page 347.) 



( 384 ) 

VI. 

i^oni salt qui mal p pense. 

1 Megan a gollod ei gardasl 

MELODY. > > WELSH. 

3 Margaret that lost her Garter j 

1. 

Lightsome and lovely the damsels were dancing. 

With knights, lords, and nobles in courtly attire. 
Setting, pursuing, receding, advancing. 

In measures that mock'd the sweet lays of the lyre ; 
All features in blossom, all floatingly blending. 

Their nimble feet waving on wings of delight. 
Or sinking, or circling, declining, or bending. 

Their motions seem'd music addressed to the sight. 

2. 

Edward led Margaret, modest and sprightly, 

"When ah ! from her light limb the garter fell down. 
Smiling, the King caught it gallant and lightly. 

Thus checking his courtiers' sly looks with a frown ; 
Who hence in brave dignities highest ascendeth, 

The badge of his pride be this bright silken toy j 
So evil to him be that evil inlendeth. 

And joy to the bosom that's open for joy. 



( 385 ) 
VII. 

C Ar hyd y nos, "1 
MELODY. < > WELSH. 

(^ The live-long night. J 

1. 

AH the live-long night reclining, 

I think on thee. 
While the silent moon is shining 

I think on thee ; 
Plans of pleasure fondly framing. 
Or in Love's Elysium dreaming, 
'Till the glorious morn is gleaming, 
I think on thee. 

2. 

Where the mountain-brooklet rimples 

I think on thee. 

While the noon-sunn*d water dimples 

I think on thee ; 

When the vernal birds are singings 

And ambrosial blossoms springing 

Flush their evening fragrance fliugia^r 

I think on thee, 
LI 



( 386 ) 

3. 

When iny rural harp is swelling 

I think on Ihee, 
And of bliss and beauty telling 

I think on thee. 
When Romance her magic's throwing. 
Strange and sweet adventures shewing, 
AH ray soul in gladness glowing, 
1 think on thee. 



4. 



Though with maids the dance I measure, 

I think on thee ; 
At the social board of pleasure 
I think on thee, 
lleartsome healths our glasses gleaming. 
Beauty, Wit, and Worth acclaiming. 
Though another's praises naming, 
I ihiiik on thee. 



( 387 ) 
VIII. 



C Merch Megan, 1 

MELODY. ^ > WELSH, 

f The daughter of Megan. J 

(See page 38.) 

The daughter of Megan, so lovely and blooming, &c. 



IX. 

r Oh ! ponder well. T 

MELODY.^ > ENGLISH. 

(; Babes in tlie Wood, j 

1. 

Oh ! ponder well, ye lovers light. 
Nor play with hearts too soon; 

Love, like a child, will break ere night, 
The toys he nurs'd at noon. 



He dreams not in his Elfin bowers 
Where Bliss is newly blown. 

Chill May has often wept o'er flowers 
By thoughtless April thrown. 



■( 388 ) 
3. 

Then ponder well your early suit. 
And Autumn's ev'ning hour 

With richer bloom will flush the fruit. 
Than April did the flow'r. 



MELODY. Peggy Bawn. Irish. 

Why should I sigh ! &c. 

(See page 194.) 

XL 

MELODY. f Glan meddwdod mwyn: 1 

< > WELSH. 

HARMONIZED. (_ Good-humoured and drunk. 3 



1. 



Good-humour'd and cheery, how joyous our meeting. 
Where Wit, Worth, and Beauty the banquet controui ; 

Far off our horizon dull Care is retreating 
And Mirth, like the morning, breaks fresh on the soul ; 



( 389 ) 

For Beauty soft blushing-. 
And Worth warmly flushing. 
Each eye lights with laughter, all darting delight 
Thro* the dew-drops that Wit scatters glitt'ring and 
bright. 



How nimbly the notes ou the live strings are ringings , 
How swells the sweet voice, even sweeter than they I 
No lark o'er his love from the rose-briar springing 
More merrily mounts in the chorus of May. 
Our charms ever changing. 
New raptures arranging, 
Applauding each pleasure that troops in our train, 
' Till the tide of the table flows gladsome again. 



3, 



Good wine like a show'r, not o'er-plenteously flowino-. 
Expands in our bosoms the seeds they contain. 

Gives freshness elastic, and bloom to their blowing. 
While the sunshine of Reason gleams thro' the bright 
rain. 



( 390 ) 

So may we regale us. 

And joy never fail us, 
When Friendship's warm summer we freshen with wine. 
The heart in high blossom, and soul in full shine. 

XII. 

MELODY. Moggy Lauder, scotch. 

1. 

By Fairy's aid I saw displayM 

My love's good Fays that blest her. 
Like bees that to her beauties flew. 

With Virtues to invest her ; 
Discretion sped around her head 

With bay-leaves there to bind them. 
While Mirth and Taste in eager haste 

With pearls and pinks entwin'd them. 

2. 

Beside her feet the Graces sweet 

In airy dances ambled, 
Peep'd throngh her dress with Playfulness, 

As round her form they rambled ; 



( 391 ) 

Brisk Wit upon her lashes lit. 

And quickenVi in her eye-beams. 

Like gossamer in sunny air. 

He shot along their sly beams. 

3. 

'Twas joy to trace some Good or Grace 

In ev'ry part throughout her; 
But Cupid light, that restless Sprite, 

Was busy all about her; 
Each act or look she did or took 

He held a place upon them; 
And when to her song the harp-strings rung 

He placed his arrows on them. 

4. 

Around her waist with Honour chaste. 

And spotless »Spor^ he wrestled. 
Or in her breast of Bliss caress'd. 

He with Affection nestled : 
But as I thought I just had caught 

Some evil Sprites about her, 
A shaft he threw that shut my view. 

And swore Hwere sin to doubt her. 



( 392 ) 

XIII. 

Anhawdd ymadael. ^ 

MELODY. < >- WELSH. 

Loth to depart. 3 



■1 



1. 

Loth to depart, love. 
And heavy at hearty love. 
My thoughts all athwart love. 

Thy bower to leave; 
Like the pale sun declining. 
The sweet hills resigning ; 
Through water-clouds shining 

He weeps o'er the wave. 

2. 

Life has no blessing 
Half worth the possessing 
Like heart to heart pressing 

In true love that heave : 
In this haloM glov/, love, 
Enblossom'd we grow, love. 
And thus in full blow, love, 

I linger to leave » 



( 393 ) 

3. 

Moments are May-flow'rs, 

With thee 'mid the gay flowers. 

While Love with his day-flow*rs 

Illumines the heart; 
In thine eyes dewy-beaming 
His parting ray's streaming. 
And Oh ! while 'tis gleaming 

I'm loth to depart, 

XIV. 



•• f Erddigan Caer Waun, 1 
SED. ^ The Minstrelsy of Chirk Castle. J 



MELODY. 
HARMONIZED. ^ The Minstrelsy of Chirk Castle. 



WELSH. 



In Cambria's noon of story. 
Ere bright she set in glory. 
The brave and great 
In princely state 
All hail'd Chirk Castle walls; 
With splendid arms returning. 
In the flaring noon-beams burning. 



( 394 ) 

'Mid armour's claug 

"i'he Clarions rang-. 

And search'd the sounding halls. 

Rich feasts profuse the garnish'd tables crown'd. 

Where the chords of flashing fire loud flourished 
pealings flung. 

Gay banners wav*d the trophied walls around, SI 

And high with heartful roar the grand carousal 

rung. 

'Till the light-finger'd minstrels in silver tonM measure 
With sharp notes of nimbleness sprinkled the strings ; 

And the neat maidens dancing,all pranksome in pleasure, 
Seem'd fairies that frisk'd it on zephyrine wings. 

While the Bards on harps, in tears of triumph wet. 

With feats of liiberty their deep full closes fiU'd, 

That long, tho' Cambria's suu in glory set. 

Her bold and lofty tale, like mountain gleams, shall 
gild. 



( 395 ) 

XV. 



MELOD\' 
HARMONIZ 



5ED. ( 



Reged, 
1. 



WEISH. 



OR CUMBRIAN 



Reged royal bride of splendour, 

Dow'rM with honours, lands, and lea, 
Brings what Fortune cannot lend her. 

Nor. can Fortune take away. 
Lips of love, and eyes of brightness 

Radiant as the rosy morn. 
Blooming health, and virgin lightness 

All her looks and steps adorn. 



White-roh'd maidens wreathed with roses 
Trip the spousal sports among ; 

Harps of Minstrels prankM with posies 
Thrilling swell the Bridal Song : 



( 396 ) 

He's the stem that strong and blooming 
Meets the sunny mountain gale ; 

She the floweret unassuming, 
Violet of the shady vale. 



Love's first twilight's dim and darkling 

Lit by one soft star alone ; 
Others after, faintly sparkling. 

Break iu brilliance one by one ; 
'Till each Grace and Virtue sprinkling. 

Great and little all combine. 
Through the world's wide midnight twinkling 

Sweetly-constellated shine. 

XVI. 

MELODY. Sally in our alley » engiish, 

1. 

Love had a castle in the air, - 

Young Hope with dew drops built it 

For infant Joys to cradle there. 
And Fancy's sunbeams gilt it. 



^ 



( 397 ) 

It hung in sunny skies serene, 

Delightsorae, clear, and peacefuJ, 

And ivy-wreathes of chearful green 
It's tow'rs eoiborder'd graceful. 

2. 

It's arches were of rainbow dyes. 

The windows glass Elysian, 
Enchanting lovers* peeping eyes 

AVith fairy-tinted vision ; 
Enrobing all in purple snow 

Bright Summer's hot dominions. 
And Winter's feathery frost with glow 

Of Love's own bloomy pinions. 

3. 

Around it spread blue mountain lakes. 
With golden islands studding. 

Sweet birchen groves, and rosy brakes. 
The flow'rs for ever budding. 

Light muffled rang soft Music's falls 
O'er chords by zephyrs breathed ; 

And odours air'd the breezy halls 

Through pillars blossom-wreathed. 
Mm 



( 398 ) 
4. 

I saw it once — that lovely fane. 

The sight a Sorc'ress granting;; 
But oh ! — dissolv'd it all to rain 

Her black arts ilisenchanting. 
But Love, sweet maid/ has giv'n to thee 

The charms that form'd and fili'd it. 
And Oh ! might 1 thy helpmate be. 

We could, mayhap, rebuild it. 



1 



xvir. 

MELODY. Ml/ lodging is on the cold ground. IRISH. 

Tito' my lodging be on the cold ground, Annabelle, &c 

(See page 351.) 

, -. XVIII. 



MELOD 



r Eryri iccn. 1 

< > WELSH. 

(^ \Xhite Snowdon. j 



In ail fhy ' maj^sTy of charms 
When first 1 bent before thee. 

My heart, that ev'ry beauty Avarms, 
Did more than half adore thee j 



( 399 ) 

But all ! like Snowdon*s summits white, 
I'hough flow'rs and sunbeams wreathe them, 

I found with all thy beauties bright 
A hard cohl heart beneath them. 

2. 

Thy love is like some gaudy weed 

In the glassy gleam's protection. 
That shoots in bloom with summer speed. 

And sudden finds perfection ; 
Though July's frost of gentlest gem 

Would crimp it's tints so tender ; 
And July's breeze would break its stem 

So brittle, weak, and slender. 

3. 

Who'd fancy lips and voice so fine 

Such pain had e'er imparted ? 
Or think those angel eyes of thisie 

Such lurid looks had darted ? 
Thus sweet briar wreathes in roses drest 

Teach lovers that would pull them. 
Ere such gay things tise heart invest 

With cautious hand to cull them. 



( 400 ) 

XIX. 

MELODY f Dilyn Serch, 



C Dilyn Serch. J 
(^The Pursuit of Love. J 



. „ _ . WELSH. 

HARMONIZED. 1 ' " 

1. 

Love, like a butterfly in May, 

Through flow'rs pursues his pastimes gay, 

But seldom to return is known 

To that same flow'r he once has flown. 

On Beauty's various-hlossomM smile 

He loves to linger for a while. 

But soon, though sad, he flies from there. 

And sobbing sighs — ^^there^s nothing here." 

2. 

If chance in Fashion's flowers he peep, 
Where Pride and Vice their venom steep. 
He finds the cup that's costliest crown'd 
Is bitterest oft at bottom found. 
At Pleasure's nectaries he sips. 
And deep in draughts delicious dips. 
But finds those flow'rs as soon as blown 
Are doom'd to fade— just like bis own. 



I 



( 401 ) 



^Till heated, tired, and half heari-broke 
He seeks the shade of Reasoii*s oak. 
And ■'twixt two flow'rs of heart's-ease lights 
That Nature on one stern unites; 
Their spots alike, alike their dyes. 
And dew»drops gem their jetty eyes ; 
Round each his little anus he throws. 
And shuts his pinions in repose. 

4. 

Would ye tliis day-fly. Love, pursue. 
He's known by Delicacy true. 
His wings, when clos'd, are scarcely scann'd. 
But flush'd with blooms — when they expand. 
And would ye take the tender elf. 
See ye be Gentleness itself. 
For ere his charms your own ye call. 
One luckless toutih — may smear them all. 



( 402 ) 

XX. 

MELODY, Mahraeth. WBLSH. 



On the smooth shore of Maltraeth I walk'd with the 
Maiel, 

When the broad sun of summer hung o'er the bright 
waves ; 

Like the flow'rs of the rock in the zephyrs we play'd, 

And amus'd the light echoes that laugh'd in their 
caves. 

2. 

For we mortals are May-flies, bright, airy, and blest. 
When in Love's happy sunbeams enhistering met; 

And Oh ! like the sunbeams that weep in the West, 
They are brightest and balmest when sinking to set. 

3. 

But the moments are few, wlien all heaving and high 
The full heart is feasting in transports so true ; 

To the ear all is music, all charms to the eye. 

To the soul all delight, —but the moments are few. 



( 403 ) 



Like the hours of high summer, when hedge-roses wild 
Bend clustering flush on the blossomy spray. 

When bright mornings are fresh, and late evenings are 
mild. 
Oh 1 how lovely they bloom, but how soon fall away. 

5. 

Farewell to thee, Mallraeth, and Maiden, farewell. 
Thy bliss and thy beauties my sad spirit leaves, 

*TilI again the light harebell nods o'er thy green dell. 
And the Summer-birds skim o'er thy b.'ue sunny waves, 

6. 

But rU think on thee, Maltraeth, in far distant lands. 
How sportive I caught up a coralline shell 

And wrote at her feet in the silvery sands 
What the more we are blessM with, the less we can tell. 

7. 

Like the short word I wrote are its moments of bloom. 
Few, tender, expressive, bright, open, and gay ; 

And Oh ! like those letters, they^re trac'd on their tomb* 
For the full heart has tides too, that sweep them away. 



( 404 ) 

XXI. 

C Serch hudol. 1 

IMELODY. < > WELSH 

(^The allurement of Love, j 

1. 

Of Lovers allurements well beware, 

A trifle eacli, but each a snare. 

A faultless form that blooming shows 

The rivals of each opening rose. 

A voice whose witch-notes warble small. 

Or melt in music's dying fall. 

Beware of all^ for each may prove 
How little can allure to Love. 

2. 

An eye that sparkles native fire. 

Or languishes in soft desire. 

A foot that rests in graceful ease. 

Or wings the dance's wavy maze. 

An arm as lily white, beset 

With azure veins of violet. 

Beware of all, for each may prove 
How little can allure to Love. 



( 405 ) 

3, 

A vesture white that borderM sheen 

Falls like the snowdrop^ freck'd with green. 

Nay ev'n the mimic flow'rs beware 

That blushing braid her flowing hair. 

But should the nymph to these unite 

A glowing soul, and spirit bright. 

Then bless the hour that bids thee prove. 
How little can allure to love. 

XXII. 

MELODY, — " Cease your funning." — English. 

1. 

Cease your funning, slaves of Folly, 
Slight not sorrows ye never can know ; 

Nor imagine hearts unholy 
E*er in soul-beams of Sympathy glow. 

At her altars rose-enwreathed 
Fresh in bright dew-drops green sweetbriar blows. 

Where each Virtue^s vows are breathed, 
Wis.lom worships, and high Beauty bows. 



( 406 -) 



O Thou, sacred source of feeling, 
ShriuM where sweet tears their luxuries form. 

Deep thy trickling streamlets stealing 
From bright fountains of Tenderness warm. 

Oh ! thrice happy, bosom-blessed 
Whom thy full heart-heaving pulses controul. 

Of thy hallow'd font possessed. 
Feels it welling, fair Saint, iu the soul. 



liove, the Summer of pure bosoms. 
Blooms the waysides of Life with his hues. 

Shines on Fancy^s op'ning blossoms. 
And enkindles Despondency's dews ; 

But to thoughtless minds of lightness 
Cold to sweet Sympathy's sunshine or rain. 

Love's delicious looks of brightness 
Beam unblessed, and sparkle in vaiu. 



( 407 ) 

XXllI. 

f Twll yn ei boch. 1 
MELODY. < > WELSH 

(^ The dimpled cheek, j 

1. 

Oh! hide that dimpled cheek of thine. 

And, Lady, smile on me no more. 
For love-lorn I at Reason^s shrine 

To live her lonely hermit swore; 
And if that dimpled cheek again, 

And that ambrosial smile I see, 
I may forget my vows so vain. 

And all the bai^m she offer'd me. 

2. 

And yet that dimpled cheek and smile. 

Lady, 'tis hard to bid thee hide; 
• But I have snffer'd bitter guile 

« oBy Woman's pei^nry arid pride. 
And if tliat dimplt^d!ick€ek''iEigaih/ 

And that ambrosial snofile I see, 
I jTiay fd%ive t!lfi«>*f>^af)^s of pain, ■ 
And all the scork- fe'li5efOo-g'^r>^ mg^ 



( 408 ) 



Then hide that dimpled cheek of thine, 

My wounds of woe I would not cure; 
Though, Lady sweety those looks divine 

Seem just like her's — as angePs pure. 
But ne*er can dimpled cheek again. 

Nor all th* ambrosial smiles I see. 
Such hours of blooming love attain. 

Nor half the joys she ofFer'd me. — 

XXIV. 

MELODY. Fair Sally, English. 
1. 

Young Sally was the first and fairest 

That flushM with love my opening breast. 
And when she vowM she held rae dearest 
J lookM on life as more than blest. 
Believing all of hearts' delight 
That lovers dream, or poets write. 
Were centred full in Sally. 



( 409 ) 



Love, yet unschool'd, my lays adoraing 

In rainbow rhymes her beauties drew. 
Her smiling eyes like May-day morning. 
In tears — like harebells hung with dew; 
Ran Eden o'er on Fancy's feet. 
But lit on nothing half so sweet. 
Nor half so fair as Sally. 



Though cv*ry flow'r assurM me daily 

That what is fair, alas ! is frail ; 
Each Muse her year spent glad and gaily 
To trim for her my tender tale ; 

But ah ! with all our courteous care 
We lit on nothing half so fair, — 
—Nor half so false as Sally. 



Nu 



( 410 3 



XXV, 



MELODY 
HARMONIZED 



. C Nos Galan* 1 
:ed; t New-year's Eve.) 



WELSH, 



Nos Galan* 
New-year's Eve 

1. 

New-year's festal Eve high hearted 

Sprigg'd with berried hollies bright. 
Decks the shrine of days departed 

ClosM on many a lov'd delight. 
Quaff the flowers of Life while glowing. 

Rarely blooms their highest hue. 
Tears nor lempt the buds to blowing. 

Nor when blown can tears renew. 

2. 

Over hearts in cold graves sleeping, 

Hearls elate with love no more. 
Many a maid has fresh been weeping 

Since New-year's Eve was^ hail'd before; 
As%'er ours that leaping listen 

Mirth and Music's raptur'd strain, 
Daisies in the dew may glisten 

Ere New-Year's five return again. 



( 4U ) 

3. 

Joys departed pure and tender 

Long illume the darkling breast. 
Like the days that set in splendour 

Flush awhile the fading West; 
And, as clouds at morning o'er us 

Brighten in the breaking skies, 
Hope, from joys that lie before us. 

Feels a radiance ere they rise. 

4. 

Sweep the full harp, swell it brightly. 

Fresh as gales on sunny sea. 
While on high hopes hounding lightly 

Glad we launch the New-year gay: 
And, as clustered stars to steer us 

Mount on each moon's brilliant train; 
So may social pleasures cheer us 

'Till New-year's Eve return again. ' 



{ 412 ) 
XXVI. 

Bttge 

FOR THE FUNERAL OF THE 

Pnme^s Cljarlotte of caales, 

19lh of November, 1817. 

MELODY f Mwynen Gtoynedd ) 

< > WELSH. 

HARMONIZED. (The sweet Melody of North Wales,) 

1. 

Toll, Britain, toll 
Thy knell the deepest. 

Peace to thy soul. 
Fair Saint, that sleepest. 
Veil thy valour-blazonM throne. 
Where olive rich with laurel shone. 
It's glory's now with willows strown. 

United Nations spread them. 
Cambria's triple plume of snow 
That danc'd in Joy's elastic flow. 
With heavy tear-drops glimmers low. 

United Nations shed them. — 



( 413 ) 

2. 

O'er Albion's bier 
Mourn, while ye show'r it. 

Her roses there. 
Both, flow'r and flow'ret., 
THISTJ.E, bend thy blossoms red. 
Thy pearly dew-drops. Shamrock, shed. 
And, neighbour Lily, bow thy head. 

With long, long farewell greet her; 
Drooping wail her obsequies. 
Then up, and hail her to the skies. 
And hope another bud may rise, — 

— But never hope a sweeten 

3. 

Oh! England's rose. 
Oh ! Hopes presuming. 
Both thee and those 
Now we're entombing. 
Mind of Freedom, Heart of Worth, 
To glow at Altar, Helm, or Hearth, 
With all that promised Peace on Earth, 
To thee was largely, given. 



( 414 ) 

When on high in happier day 

We lift the laudatory lay. 

Or blessings on thy People pray, 

We^ll think on thee in Heaven! 



C Morva Rkuddlan. ^ 
I Rhuc 



id d I an Marsh. j 

1. 

Weep for the Brave that in panoply shrouded 
Fell champions of Freedom on Rhuddlan^s red plain. 

Where now all is sad, in wide heavy gloom clouded. 
And Elwy sighs deep to the murmuring main. 

Tho' firm as a mountain in battle we bore us. 

And clung to our banners that bloomed in the gales> 

The dark gathered cloud of the Saxons broke o'er us, 

, And swept from our sides the brave blossoms of Wales. 

2. 

Weep for to-da^^ but rely on the morrow. 

The Good have a charm in their midnight of woe. 

If Hope only breathe on the embers of Sorrow 
They brighten to. kindle her torch at the glow. 



( 415 ) 
Tho* Pride and Oppression in transient ascendence 

May dazzle and burn in their flary career. 
More bright is thy failure and fall. Independence, 

More holy and pure is the gleam of thy tear. 

M ELODY- ( Rhyfetgyrch Cadpen Morgan 7 

^ > WELSH. 

riAUMONIZED. (^ Captain Morgan's March, J 

1. 

A health to the Brave in fields afar 

Sweet Fieedom^s foes assailing; 
And high the Choral burden bear. 

Their names with honours hailing. 
What meed awaits the fallen Brave ? 

— A Nation's tears to dew them ; 
And Bards the blooming flow'rs to weave. 

And Virgin hands to strew them. 

2. 

But what their meed to whom return 
In Triumph's car is granted ? — 

— Beside their comrades' laurel'd urn 
To see the olive planted. 



( 416 ) 

To hear the Good, the Free, the Fair 
Rich notes of rapture pealing. 

That high the Choral burden bear 
Their names with honours hailing,-^ 



■ 1 



[ELODY. 

The Cornish May Song, 

HARMONIZED. 



Come, let us all a-Maying go 

To the Meadows green and brightsome 
Where primroses and gold-cups blow. 

And the sweet birds pipe so lightsome 
To hail the morn of all admired 

With games and garlands gay 0; 
The Men as various months attir'd. 

But the maidens all as the May O. 



Thoughts chequer Life as months the year. 
With blights or blossoms teeming; 

Some cold and chill, some dark and dreai;, 
And some yrith gladness gleaming. 



( 417 ) 
Sweet Hope is .April blooming cold, 

High Joy is July gay O; 
October's Friendship ripe and old. 

But Love, Oh Love, is the May 0. 

3. 

Coy nymphs all neat from face to feet 

On amorous tiptoe dancing 
In trappings new from hat to shoe. 

With rattling ribbands glancing. 
Tall cowslip stalks leap with their locks. 

While Nature, all in array 0, 
From earth to sky sings loud and high 

To the choral song of the May 0. 



MELODY. C Eobin Adair, ^ scotch. 

ALTERIf ATE DUETT, f AiUeu ArOOlU 3 IRISH, 

1. 



ROFIN. 
Cold is thy scorn to me. 

Lady so fair, 
Hope is forlorn to me. 

Vain is my pray'r: 



( 418 ) 
Lady, thy lip bestows 
Roses on others* woes, 
E;at sharp the thorn it showjs 
Robin Adair. 

2. 

LADY. 
Tell not thy woe to me. 

Vain is thy prayV; 
Thy lot's too low for me, 

Robin Adair I 
Nobles of high degree 
Proud are to sigh for me 5 
Go, nor come nigh to me, 

Robin Adair. 



a, 

ROBIN. 

Kings may pay court to thee. 

Lady so fair; 
Lords may resort to thee. 

Speed may their pray*r; 



( 419 ) 

Gold bring the lords and kings. 
Titles and tawdry things; 
Heart's love is all that brings 
Robin Adair. 

4. 

LADY 
How can I dwell with thee 

From courts afar ? 
Thy rural cell with thee 

How can I shariB? 
Where on the Village green 
Splendour is never seen ? 
Sad is thy suit, I ween, 

Eobin Adair, 

ROBIN. 

Go, !et it blaze for thee. 

Poor is the glare; 

Sweet be the gaze to tliee. 
Passing as air : 



( 420 ) 

But when on Splendour's throne. 
Ask where true Love is flown ? 
—Oh !— then thou* It think upon 
Robin Adair. 



MELODY, r 1 FINE OLD 

-J The Dust]/ Miller, > 

SLOW, r 3 ENGLtiSa. 



Woman's love ! away 
Thou vain and vaunting passion ; 

I disown thy sway 
Thou slave of fools and Fashion. 

Though indeed i own 
Wert thou in Truth victorious. 

Suns of the mid-zone 
Were not more bright or glorious. 

2. 

True Love's like the bir4 
Belov'd in Persian bowers. 

Who, the rose prefer'd. 
Rejects all other flowers. 



( 421 ) 

But thou! Butterfly 
O'er ev'^ry rich weed ranging. 

Soon art doomM to die, 
CliiliM with ever changing.— 

3, 

Smiling as thou art 
I bitterly upbraid thee. 

And lament the heart 
That honest vows e*er paid thee. 

Though thou hast a ray. 
Delightful, dear, delicious, 

'Tis of April's day — 
— Short, cunning, and capricious; 

4. 

B«t in Friendship's train 
I bow with pilgrims plenty ; 

Where thou hast but twain. 
Oh ! He can honour twenty. 

Thou'rt a clouded sun 
Ooop'd in a coy pavilion ; 

When thy fire is done 
Old Friendship lights a million. 



MELOJIY. 



( 452 ) 

Marwnad Tehjn Hoel. f imitation of WEiSH 
The Lay of Hoel's Harp. 3 by the author. 

1. 

Cold and loiie looks the moon on thy walls, Dinas Bran, 

And mournfully murmurs the dark-rolling Dee; 
But the lamp of my life is. more lonely and wan. 

And sorrow high-swelirug, flows darker to me; 
Yet bright was my joy in tlje spring of my love. 

And rich were the blossoms in Hope's early glov/ ; 
But Myvanwy is cold, and poor Hoel must prove 

On his harp and his heaven, the Win{<:r of Woe. 

2. 

O Myvanwy divine, tliou art Britain's bright star, 

Tho' malignant to Hoel, thou merciless maid ; 
Yet it soothes me to think I thy radiance may share 

When irj yonder lone Abbey my sorrows are laid. 
For to gem the bright raptures of beauties unborn 

Brother Bards in their garlands my tears will enshrine; 
And while Dee shall the Vale of Llangollen adorn 

Will the name of My vanwy be mingled with mine. 



MELODY, 

^ The S 



( 423 ) 

Havod. 



lavod. 1 IMITATION 

ummer Seat. 3 of wtLSH. 



1 



Hail to lliee, Sumnaer! Nymph blooiahig and fair. 
Swallows in gossamers lac'd to thy car. 
Flora thy path spriiikles flaunting afid sweet. 
Tall flowers bend to eugdrlarid thy feet; 
Thy gauzy green veil, and dark locks lily-drest 
But for thy flight ou thy white neck would rest 
Birds of all beaaties their melodies souiid, 
\yhile Fairies and Dryads bend sweeping around. 



Haste to thy Temple, Nymph, lonely and still. 
Peeping thro' slope woods that mantle the hill, 
Vallies below it sweep rich to the view. 
Prospects aroiuul it spread dislaiit and blue. 
There crowns thy fair altar, (Oli ! long may it last) 
Sprinkled with sprigs the cool rustic repast; 
Fancy and Music illume the li^ht hours, . 
And Souls, lik€^ thy season, fling open their flowers. 



( 424 ) 

3r 

Bloom, lovely Summer, we bless thy sojourn. 
Late may'st thou linger, and early return ; 
Fragrance and Freshness await all thy flowVs, 
Sunshine and Rainbow attend all thy show'rs. 
May thy delicate mornings shine breezy and bright. 
Clouds o'er thy blue noon sail fleecy and white. 
Steeped in soft sunbeams each evening close. 
And crimson-gold curtains hang round thy repose. 



C Bodlondeb, 1 
t Contentment, j 



IMITATION 
MELODY. 

OF WELSH, 



1. 

On the walls of o\d Conway still evening was glinting* 

And the tide's silver surge a soft murmuring kept, 

"While the edgings of Autumn the slope-wood were 
tinting. 

And the brown sunny mountains in mellowness slept ; 

There I mark'd the sweet villa, my heart half-declining 

Where the jessamine linger'd with late roses blent. 

Where the scarlet-leav'd creepers neat-trelac'd were 
twining. 
And they calPd it Bodlondeb— the Cot of Content, 



( 425 ) 

Bloom, lovely Bodlondeb, and may thy possessor. 

In her beauties as soft and as soothing^ as thine. 
Bloom on to Life's Autumn, while blefiding to ble^s her 

The blossoms of feature and Fancy combine. 
Tis enough for the Miustre!, if haply dejected , 

In Elysian remembrance thy tints to retain, 
When his cot of Contentment in air is erected. 

With thy roses to wreathe it — that bloom in his brain. 

FOR A 

MIDSUMMER WEDDING. 



Come haste totheWedding, His Hymen^s bright-holiday. 

Midsummer hedges with blossoms are gay. 
Our maids are all pranksome, and friends keep a joUy 

day. 
Nature herself is in bridal array . 

The sweet birds are singing. 

The merry bells ringing. 
And breezy leaves dance o'er each green sunny knoll. 

Life's joys frolic around us. 
And Heaven approving illumines the whole. 



( 426 ) 

2. 

May Jove to this pair be as June is to Nature, 

Their life, like this day, be delightful and long. 
Brisk Health in her beauties adorning each feature. 
And Taste wreathing blossoms of Music and Song ; 
Their merry thoughts glancing. 
Like sunoy leaves dancing. 
While Love's silent ecstacies breathe on the soul. 

Life's joys frolic around them. 
And Heaven approving illumine the whole. 

FOR 

TWO LADIES LEAVING WESTFELTON, 

And requesting a Song in Remembrance. 

1. 

Pray think not of me in proud circles of Fashion, 

If lur'd by the light voice of Folly to go 
Where looks without lustre, and hearts without passion. 

Are paler and colder than moonshine on snow. 
Nor think yet of me where the brawls of Devotion 

With Vanity's gawds fill the Temples of Dearth, 
Where the lip and the leer with the mock ofemotioi» 

Blend fancies of Heaven with fmilties of Earth. 



( 427 ) 



But think ye of me where the silence of Nature 

Breathes Truths Love, and Beauty ye cannot controul 
When the rapture of Reason is felt in each feature. 

And the sunshine of Glory expands on the soul. 
Or, if haply too high be the task I'm requiring. 

Seek pleasures domestic, friends^ music, and glee ', 
And, rich in Romance, the Bard's magic admiring. 

In the frolicks of Fancy, — then think ye of me. 



St. Matthew^ s tune, harmonized. 

In ev^ry place, at ev'ry hour. 

Though poor our worship be. 
In weal or woe, in shine or showV, 

liord, we worship Thee. 
We worship Thee in Fear by night. 

And thoughts of Death employ ; 
But soon as gleams the glorious light 

We worship Thee in Joy. 

2. 

In Wonder, Lord, we worship Thee 
As on Thy works we gaze. 

So various, lovely, vast, they be. 
We pause — in mute amaze. 



1 



( 429 ) 

We worship Thee in Hope when low 
Each daily toil we prove; 

And when rich fields in fulness flow 
We worship Thee m Love. 



When thunders roll, and whirlwinds fly, 

We worship Thee in Awe, 
And praise, as clears the beauteous sky, 

Thy Mercy, Pow'r, and Law. 
Thus ev'ry hour, in ev'ry place. 

Though poor our worship be. 
In Fear, Love, Wonder, Joy, and Praise, 

O Lord, we worship Tbce.^ 



.41 



)pmn. 



Tune hy the Author, 

1. 

What have I done ? that ev'n to nie 
Thy gladd'iiiiig gleams are shown 1 

For all Thy boundless bounties free, 
O Lord, what have 1 done? 

2. 

Have I in Works, or Worlds ere this 
Rever'd Thy Laws divine ? 

Oh no 1 — in me no merit is. 
Unsought the gifts are thine. 

3. 

Yet I in Worlds and Works to come 
May still Thy glories view ; 

For mercies here, and o'er the tomb, 
Lord, what can I do ? 



( 431 ) 



With social heart, and raplur'd eye. 
My feeble thanks I'll frame. 

Delighted live ; and as I die 
Adore thj^ !iai'low>ed uame. 



^ptn% 



FOR THE LADIES' CLUB, 

OR, 

FEMALE FRIENDLY SOCIETY, 

OSWESTRY, 1817. 

MELODY. TkeSvffolk Tune, or Evening Hymn, harmontiz&d. 
1. 

Oh ! bright and blessed be the Bands 

That link in Love our sister hands ; 

True servants we of Him in Heav*n 

To mark the '' New Commandment" giv'n. 

2. 

BeH ours the Olive-branch to strow. 
And quell the tares of Want and woe; 
Affliction's brows with Palm to twine. 
And round the Cottage coii the Vine. 



1 



,1 



( 433 ) 

3. 

Our feet shall smoothe the slope of Age, 
Our hands the ^angs of Pain assuage. 
And ev'n this life shall bloom with hours 
Of blessed fruits, and balmy flow*rs. 

4. 

So angel sisters from above 
Shall hail us to their home of Love, 
When Death our fading Band untwines. 
And Heav*n's eternal Sabbath shiaes. 



Pp 



prologue 



To a Piay 3t the Shrewsbury Theatre, acted by a company 
of the InhaljitantF, for the Benefit of the Industrtoits Poor, 
ii! the hard Winter, March 1817, Spoken by tlje Author iu 
the Character of Prospero. 



Abjur'd my Art, and spoil'd of every Spell, 
I powerless Prospero leave my iovvly cell, 
But, as the poor-man^s pilot I appear, 
Methiuks I have no need of Magic here; 
Ye are. my potent F.Ives, tny Arls, ray Arms, 
My Circle tliis^ of more than magic charms: 
Your Alms my Pliiitres, Clu^rity my Wand,. 
My Bock, — th.e Sorrows of a suiFering Land. 

Yet Music comes ray sinking soul to cheer; 
Strains like my Ariel's magic notes are here.* 



^ Tlie Geutlemen of Shrewsbury Choral Society in the 
Orchtslre. 



( 435 ) 

Thus by your power call'd up in every heart. 
Around I see celestial spirits start; 
Spirits that shall disperse the gioom of Care- 
Allay the rising Tempest of Despair — 
Convert by alms and education kind 
Each foul rebellious monster of the mind — 
Bid Culture crown the board, and heap the hearth— 
Bid social Love turn Malice all to Mirth-— 
The swelling- waves of Sin and Sorrow check — 
And save the good Ship In dctstuy from wreck. 

Thus shall my Spirits, summou'd by your smile. 
Renew their blessed ia this bounteous isle. 
Then fly to register your Acts elsewhere, 
Wiiig'd on the pinions of each Pauper's prayer. — 

Ye proud Salopians ! proud in beauties grac'd. 
By Talent houour'd, and adniirM of Taste ; 
Proud in your princely mart's distinguished claim 
To civic Oak, — and Bays of Academe ;t 



t Slight as was this Compliment in the presence of the 
Eer. Dr. Butler, under ^vhom the Author had the honour of 
being educated, it was felt aud rapturouslyrapplauded by the 
full and brilliant audience. 



( 436 ) 

Deem not this balmy boon the smallest gem> 
That studs your many-wreathed diadem. 

So the fair flood that laves your lovely bowVs, 
And lingers fondly round your spiry towers. 
With graceful grandeur sparkling as it flows. 
Bears wealth and blessings wheresoe'er it goes. 

The Poor shall praise ye — His for them I bow — 
Not for my Actors : — You are the Actors now ; 
For what am 1, and all these mimic elves. 
But poor imperfect shadows of your Selves ? 
And, when our Stage this curtain shall unveil. 
Not to your Sense, but to your Selves appeal. 
Nor fear by us your kind applause disgraced,- 
Not to our merit, but our Motive, plac'd.| 



X The amount received, £ 113 11*. 6d. was the next mora- 
ing paid into the Bank for the benefit of the Poor. 



-iai'^» 'hdi 



epilogue. 



For the Benefit of Tavo Actresses who assistfd in the Play 
for the Industrious Poor. — Shrewsbury, Dec. 1817. 

When Hydra Poverty witli chilly stings, 
DarkenM our Laud on demon-pointed wings. 
And strove awhile to eaith her loathsome lair 
Amid these Severn-circled walls so fair, 
'Twas here Ye crowding met last Winter*s uii,^ht. 
All— all, in virtues warm, and vestures bright, 
Call'd by your youthful Heralds to this stage 
For the sad Poor a noble war to wage. 

Scared by your power, and at your presence aw'd, 
(Not by our Arts, or Prosperous rhymes and rod) 
The lawky Fiend her vampire-pennons spread. 
Slung up her slackened length, and yelling fled ; 
While poor-men shouting pealed their blessings true 
And poor-men's hearts by thousands prayed for you. 

That brilliant night, by you so brilliant made. 
We sister Thespians lent our little aid. 



( 438 ) 

And wear to-night the wreathes your Heralds wore. 
Asking your alms again, to aid — the poor ! 
I You, — Actors young,— -if in these groups ye are, 

I We thank not for your plaudits : — well aware 

\ That night while on these curtainM boards ye dwelt 

U The one, the warm desire to please ye felt, 

J. Will prompt you now instinctive praise to give 

To us, that by those very efforts live. 
Fated around the rolling year to feel 
Trembling, each fearful turn of" Fortune's Wheel^' 

But Ye, that never trode such walks as these, 
Nor felt that sole solicitude to please. 
If by your hands kind plaudits are decreed. 
We hold such plaudits charity indeed. 

Come, my fair Colleague, meet these generous ranks. 
And mix with mine all courteous cordial thanks, 
Assur'd that humble hope, and zeal sincere. 
May always find a fit tribunal here. 






33rolosue, 



to a Play for the Benefit of a Public Library : spoken in 
the character of Lord Duberly, formerly Old Daniel Dowlas 
the Grocer.— Oswestry Theatre, 1822. 

Though here I struts a lord so great and gay> 
I was but tallow-chandler t'other day ; 
Tve riches/ dress, good dinners, rank and station. 
But what are all these without headdication ? 
if I dines out, and says but aye or no. Sir, 
As sure as figs is figs — out peeps the Grocer, 
I sees as clear as isinglass or varnish 
Wealth without larnin — is but tawdry tarnish : 
Poor men, of Manners, Sense, and Wit all handy. 
Are to Society — bright Sugar-candy ; 
While ev'n in Senate, Bar, Church, Tabernacle, 
Brass without Brains, — is Brimstone without Treacle. 

I to the Playhouse goes, to see their vainery. 
And (tho^ enraptured with their fine new Scenery) 
I knows not what their wit or weeping takes there. 
Nor what they means by Sheridan or Shakspeare. 



( 440 ) 

We've got no Books, — and tliis our show's ail brib'ry 
To ax good-natur'd folks to fill our LiBREr. 
We gives books to the poor — and all approves them ? 
1 hen why not by example shew we loves Iheni? 

Knowledge, in this World's counting-house's mass. 
Is good store candle, mould, or brilliant gas 
I'o keep our day-book faithful ; which, when furi'd, 
V/ill post us filter for a future world. 



iWomus tiimtti JWtnstrel; 



APOLLO'S PROPHECY, 

In the Album at Pen y Bryn, Vale of Llangollen, the residence 
of Mr. Turner : 21 June, 1815. 

In old ages of yore 

When the gods in a corps 
In thfr frolics of mortals did busy 'em. 

With their hearts all akin 

They sought Pen y Bryn, 
And founded on earth an Elysium. 

On a bank of the Dee 

Sat Apollo in glee. 
While Cambria with native flow'rs crown'd him. 

And the Muses they sung, 

And the Graces they flung 
Their light feet in airy dance round bini. 



( 44-2 ) 

With chaste wit, mirth, aud jest 
The banquet was blest. 

It was cum digintatibiis otia ; 

; And the free converse fiow'd 
O'er the table's rich load 

Of sweet nectar bright, and ambrosia. 

When warm with the wine 

The Harper divine 
Took a Harp, and in allegro struumiing- it 

To a fife new ballad 

(Like Garrick's mix'd sallad) 
Prophetic he thus fell a-humraing it. 

** When my chaiiot first peeps 
" Over yon ridgy steeps, 

" And raddles Aurora's gay portals, 
*' We ftasters shall fly 
*' To our hoines in the sky, 

" And mingle no longer with mortals. 

'* 'Till this spot shall be grac'd 
" With a man of my taste. 



( '^43 ) 

" That in Reason's right festal sball rule ye ; 
" And the Muses and Graces 
*' Mix their fancies and faces 

" In a Nynnph that sliall then be callM Julia. 

" And then for their age 

" Will this place be a stage 
** Where the gods of each Virtne shall chuse *eni 

" To da-capo this feast 

*' Each in form of a guest 
" Conceal'd in each hea<l and each bosom. 

" Then our songs and glees clear 

" Shall again echo here 
" In the strains of a Handel and Calcott; 

" And our frolics, I trow, 

*' Be as prauksome as now, 
" In that bastard of Pindar. John Walcott. 

" Even Moiiuis shall there 

"^ Like a Minstrel appear, 
•' With his nonsense and fun that offends nets 

" To record this jsrediction, 

'' And feel Uis no fiction, 
" The' hi*? pen to express it pretends not." 



i 444 ) 

Then with heavenly din 

They all bless'd Pen y Bryn, 
While Apollo kept playing a symphony. 

And made Momus recorder 

Here on the Welsh Border, 
The' the gods and the Graces thought him funny. 

So they all took their flight 

When the day-star shone bright. 
O'er the high ridgy rocks of Vale Crucis. 

Nor have they forgot 

To revisit this spot. 
Or in it the Devil and deuce is. 

For the god of that lay 

Ye' II find at this day 
EittortaPd in Friendship and Turner ; 

And the Nymph that he chuaes 

To match all the Muses, 
With the tenth of an eye ye'll discern her. 

And I Momus, I ween. 
In the revels am seen 



( 445 ) 

And I felt like a Bard, tbo' not look'd it 
When her Album I took 
By coHifaand of her look. 

And thus, like a boggier, hare book'd it. 

MOMUS, 



• l 



OF SHREWSBURY, 

On her going out as Governess. 



Go, maid, thy pleasing powers impart 
\Mid social scenes, and friends refin'd. 

To flush the flowing springs of heart. 
And aid the opening folds of mitui. 

Impart the pages strong and bright 
That clear Historic S;?ges shew ; 

The suns, and rolling orbs of light 

That o-ieam with truth and Newton^s alow. 



o' 



Each opening bud with beauty fraught 

That smiles on mountain, field, or mead. 

Explore with fondest feeling, taught 
By Nature, and the Noble Swede. 

And Oh ! display sweet Fancy^s lore 
That taste-illumiuM Poets sing : 

What forms the pencil's mimic store ; 
Or pants upon the living String. 



( 447 ) 

Nor yet the lesser lights disdain 
Each humbler. Art or Science find 

To form the constellated train 

That gem with joys our night of mind. 

Let ev'ry step Instruction prints 
Some little lasting thread receive 

That Truth entwines and Fancy tints 
The web of Manners mild to weave. 

And all those cleaving claims of heart 
That to a parentis fondness fail. 

Those duteous debts, O ! large impart. 
For, Harriet, — thou hast felt them all. 

But over mark amid the whole 

One star and flower that, ne'er deceive, 
— It pilots home the waiuleriiig Soul, 

Nor dreads the Winter of the Grave. 



gjonnet 

To JOHN CLAVERING WOOD, Esq. 

And didst thou think ou me in Belgic lands ? 
Where smil'd to lure thy all-delighted mind 
The charms of change, and choicer friend combinM; 
And thou did'st think on me * — Time's knotted bands 
(Not spare of flow'rs) that link our hearts and hands 
Tighten by length. — Content I slightly twin*d 
(In dear Westfelton's sunny groves reclin'd) 
Some weeds 1 culPd on Cambria's craggy strands ; 
When as I traced our steps of former days 

Through her lone vales, all up to Snowdon's skies ; 
Where erst with thee, ail rich in thy good praise, 

I wingM my thoughts on her bright Melodies 
Now richer in the praise thy heart has penn'd 
That crowns me still, Worth-honour'd Wood, thy Friend 



onmt 

To THOMAS BEWICK. 

Xylograprer I name thoe, Bewick, taught 

By thy wood-Art, that from rock, flood, and tree 
Home to our hearths, all lively, light, and free 

In suited scene, each living thing has brought. 

As life elastic, animate with thought. 

Well hast thou Fabled too, would man but see 
Each masqued lure. And Oh ! what cordial glee 

To con thy fancies shrewd, and sharply wrought ! 

Age-honour'd friend, of open heart and mind. 

Like Nalnre^s fields, ail bounteous, broad and bright 
With Freedom, Love, Sublimity, and Mirth ; 

Thy praise in thy own page fair Truth has shrinM 

Gladsome, for each declares, in lines of light. 

How Heav'n^s high Choral-songs preach to dull ears of 
Earth. 

Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 
Northumberland, 3d Oct, 1823. 



onnet 

On having Gi^sford, 



Gresford, thy woods, and vales of gentle swell, 
Brilliaut with vernal dew and dciisies ga-y. 
And bright stream glitieriiig in the morning ray. 

Tby sunny church that cheerful crowns the del! ; 

Fine luscious hyacinths^ of brittle bell 

Fragrant ', and lilac's heavy-blossom'd spray. 
Laburnum goldeu-tress'd, and flow'rs of May, 

And all tby beauties now i bid farewell. 

Musicians, limners> ladies, men of verse. 

Who feed on fancy, music, herbs, and mutton. 

Will frolic as before ; and what the worse 

Makes my sad rhymes this doleful visage put on, - 

The merry Mistress Hayman and Tom Pierce 
When Dovastonis gone — won't care a button. 



<:PM1C SONG. * 

1. 

Oiltls' fish 1 as Viti an Angler true, 

ril shew, to suit my wishes. 
One half the world are anglers too. 

And t'other half are fishes: 
For some in craft and baits, ye'll ^nd^ 

Are trollers to a tittle ; 
And sooth ^tis said of aU mankind 

The hjg :live on the little. 

Tol l&l Ae roL &c. 



♦ This, awl the jThvije foMowiog, are from Two unpublished 
Dramatic Poems, 



1 



( 452 ) 

2. 

The girls, like artificial flies 

In feathers, silk, and dubbing, 
Without a bait make lovers rise 

Whenever they go a chubbing : 
But they, like us, are often out. 

Yet take it more in dudgeon ; 
For oft, when tickling for a trout. 

They get a bite of gudgeon, 

Tol lol de rol, &c. 



The statesmen mostly ply for plaice. 

And warily they watch them ; 
Or deep or shallow be the case 

They care not so they catch them. 
With grease the priest allures the soles. 

And, should he fail to hook them. 
He ships them off to hell in shoals. 

And bids the Devil cook them. 

Tol lol de rol, &c. 



1 



( 453 ) 

4. 

The lawyer loves the fish of gold. 

And close when caught he clips him^ 
But like an eel, is hard to hold. 

And through all fingers slips him. 
The playful Poet, fish of fun. 

Though brightest beauties dye him. 
Will after flow'rs and feathers run 

That can no food supply him. 

Tol lol de rol, &c. 



Nor man nor maid is tbere so sly 

But, if ye care to catch them, 
Ye'U surely find some gilded fly. 

Or maggot, just to match them. 
Like Anglers, down Life's bubbled brbok 

Our flimsy reel we spin it; 
Bui, Fish-like, seldom see the hook 

Cach Folly has within it. 

Tol lol de rol, &€. 



THE 

O'er foggy fens we Goblins glide^ 

And flit around the moor-fiend's taper 
Alluring wilder'd -wights aside. 

Led by the dim and lambent vapour 

Through tufted rushes, segs, and reeds. 
Through ponds of slimy water-weeds. 
And when they get 
Their cockers wet. 
Ho ! ho ! we cry. 
And away we hie 
Laughing aloud rigiit lustily. 

We too the lieavy Nigjitmare stride. 

On the sick-man's bosom sitting 
With frightful eyes, and visage wide. 

When first his slumbers soft are knitting; 
He seems on joyous journey gone. 
Yet labouring gets no footstep on. 



( 455 ) 

Then toppling starls 
As sleep departs. 

Ho ! ho ! we cry. 
And away we hie 
Laughing aloud right lustily. 

In war our wicked crew careers 

Round Death's pale horse on arrows flying 
Quaft matrons' cries, and virgins' tears. 
Mangle the dead, and mock the dying. 

At kings, and their poor fools we laugh, 
Whose lives are scattered cheap as chaff; 
And when the roar 
Of havoc's o'er 

Ro 1 ho ! we cry. 
And av;ay we hie 
Laughing aloud right lustily. 



THE 

:fmvp Sltt. 

We Fairy folks delight in sport. 
And pass the Summer's night in sport. 
In many a ring. 
We dance and sing. 
And sometimes even fight in sport. 

The zephyr bends the broom for ub. 
And -wafts the night perfume for as. 

And the moonlight plays 

On the golden sprays 
That bow'r the banquet room for u«. 

Unshed the pearly dew we cross, 
Unmar'd the blossoms' hue we cross. 

And a feather shook 

On the breezy brook 
Will csrrv all our cre\v across. 



( 457 ) 
Her light the glow-worm flings to us. 
The gnat her shrill horn rings to us. 

And the spider's wire 

From briar to briar 
When we bestride it, swings to us. 

We ever are inclined to good. 

And watch with eager mind the good. 

Nor is aught displayed 

In all that's made 
Wherein we cannot find a good. 

Would mortals be posses^'d like us 
Of pleasure, peace, and rest like us. 

Oh ! let them be 

Guiltless as we. 
And then they will be bless'd like us. 



Rr 



THE 



<^oob Mm'!S <irabe. 



Lovely Fays, 



Suspend your coronals of fading flowers. 

And strings of leafy s^reath^ from tree to tree ; 

And wjien the mist of morning steals away 

Before the glimmering sunbeams, they shall all 

Be chang'd to filmy threads, long, hoar, and heavy. 

Beaded with tiny tears. >Short while I leave ye. 

Having some pleasing duty yet to da 

Where I shall ask your aid ; and theh dcHisign ye 

Back to your blossom-bells, ^tiil farther need. 

But ere ye follow me, sing by this Well 

Each after each commingling, some sweet Dirge 

As we are wont, ev*n in cur happiness. 

To dew as 'twere the day-fiow'rs of delight. 

Let it fall, melting in the lesser chords 

Lingering in tenderness ; yet withal brilliant 

At times, with intellectual melody. 

Bright on the greater tones j each heightening eacli 

Like April sun-show'rs» 



—How hallowed is the Good Man's Gi'ave ?— 
While Earth and Ileav'ii his garlands weave^ 
Of ev^i*y tender tie cai'ess'd. 
With every fitter feeling blessM. 

Wedlock' weeps with bandage broke. 
Like ivy oji the sever'd oak ; 
And filial Manhood mourns aside. 
His tear from softer souls to hide* 

Cherub Childhood's glimmefing eye 
Is wet, though half-unconscious why. 
And Beauty's cheek of augel hue. 
Like April pinks irapearrd with dew. 

] Not far the dead, hut worldly woe 

[ These tears of silent sorrow flow; 
For sleep the Good on sweeter bed 
Than Sylph or Summer eter spread? 



( 460 ) 

Resignation tolls his knell. 
Truth and Hope his vespers swell. 
While Friendship fondly strews his tomb. 
And Serapb'd Kindred choir him home, 

t With every finer feeling blessM 

\ Of every tender tie caress'd, 

\ While Earth and Heaven his garlands weave, 

1 — Thus hallowed is the Good Man's Grave ! 



( 457 ) 

Her light the glow-worm flings to us. 
The gnat her shrill horn rings to us. 

And the spider's wire 

From briar to briar 

When we bestride it, swings to us, 

• 

"We ever are inclined to good. 

And watch with eager mind the good, 

Kor is aught displayed 

In all that's made 
Wherein we cannot find a good. 

Would mortals be possess'd like us 
Of pleasure, peace, and rest like us. 

Oh ! 'let them be 

Guiltless as v^e. 
And then they will be hIessM like us. 



Rk 



THE 



(^ootr Mm's <itabe. 



Lovely Fays, 



Suspend your coronals of fadiug flowers. 

And strings of leafy wreaths from ti-ee to tre,e^ 

Ajid when the mist of morning steals away 

Before the glimmering sunbeams, they shall all 

Be changed to filmy threads, long, hoar^ and heavy^ 

Beaded with tiny tears. Short while I leave y^. 

Having some pleasing- duty yet to do 

Where I shall ask your aid ; and then consign ye 

Back to your blossom-bells, 'till farther n^ed* 

But ere ye follow me, sing by this Well 

Each after each commingling, some sweet Dirge 

As we are wont, ev'n in our happiness. 

To dew as 'twere the day-flow'rs of delight. 

Let it fall, melting in the lesser chords 

Lingering in tenderness ; yet withal brilliant 

At times, with intellectual melody, 

Bright on the greater tones ^ each heightening each 

Like April sun-show'rs. 



— How hallowed is the Good Man's Graved— 
V/hile Earth and Heay/n, his gailajads vveave^ 
Of ev,ej;y t^f|ef;. tit; ca^;qs&'d> 
Witji^ eYerj, %ifir fj^filwig, bless' d. 

Wedlock weeps with bandage broke^ 
Like ivy on the severed oak ; 
And filial Manhood mourns aside. 
His tear from softeF souls to hide. 

Cherub Childhood's glimmering eye 
Is wet, though half-iinconscious why. 
And Beauty's cheek of angel hue. 
Like April pinks impearl'd with dew. 

>Jot for the dead, but worldly woe 
These tears of silent sorrow flow; 
For sleep the Good on sweeter bed 
Than Sylph or Summer eyer spread, 



( 460 ) 

Resignation tolls his knell^ 
Truth and Hope his vespers swell. 
While Friendship fondly strews his tomb. 
And Seraph'd Kindred choir him home. 

With every finer feeling blessM 

Of every tender tie caressed. 

While Earth and Heaven his garlands weave, 

— Thus hallowed is the Good Man's Grave ! 



I 



Contents?. 



PICE 

FJtz-Gwarioe; in Three Cantos, ,. I 

The Grey Baron; in Two Parts, 101 

Pen-yr-Voel, 109 

Kynaston's Cave, 118 

Llunck Llys 127 

Bala Water ; in Two Parts, ; 129 

TheElfiii Bride, 361 

gncttrental l^oem^* 

Ode for Shakspeare's Birth-day, 143 

Dirge, for the same occasion, .* 151 

Address, on Shakspeare's Birth-day, 289 

Scottish Epistle, to Thomas Spring, 154 

On the Death of A. R. Giichrist, .'. 159 

The Ring ; to a young Lady, 163 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Broach ; to the same, iQ5 

Pastoral Epistle, 167 

The Bee ; paraphrased from theGreek of Theocritus 1 73 

The Barometer; or, fair and changeable, 175 

To Thomas Yates ; with a Shakspeare, 178 

My Boxen Bower ; a Roundelay, e... „,., 181 

The Blackcap, 183 

To Thomas Yates; remoustrative Epislle, 185 

Melancholie, , 189 

Inscription for Mr. Parkes's Cell, Shrewsbury, ... 190 

Shentone's Yew, , 191 

The Missletoe, 196 

Moijody ; Oswestry School, •••• 198 

Monody ; Myself, 355 

On the night of my Birth-day, 30th Dec. 1802, 207 

The Village Tree, 296 

Inscription for the Cottage in Porkington grounds, 298 

Inscription for Maes-Garmon : Hallelujah Victory, 299 

To Miss Parkes, as Governess, 446 

^'O Nancy, wilt thou gang wi' me,'' Latin, ... 210 

Kesponsio ; per amicum. Latin, 212 

Somuium amantis, Latin, .««>««•< ...i.t.i **4 



COiNTENTS. 

PACK 

Inscription for an Ufu to Linnaeus. Latin, 216 

Inscription under a purple Beech. Latin, • 217 

Farewell to tlie Muse, .....•• 283 

(In the order th^y were composed.) 

Valentine, 300 

The Snow.lock, 301 

ProudMaid! for thee, &c. 302 

To John Clavering Wood, Esq 303 

Adversity, 304 

To a Streamlet in the grounds of Marsh-Hall, . • 305 

March, 306 

April, (previous Sonnet continued) ..,..• 307 

To the Ivy, 306 

Poesy, 309 

The ^olian Harp, 310 

The meadow, called Fairyland, near Westfelton 311 

Music, , ,......,. 312 

^%' 313 

The Orchard in blossom, 314 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Quarrel with the Muse, 315 

Reconciliation, (previous Sonnet continued) . . 316 

The Glow-worm, 317 

The Deity, (previous Sonnet continued) 318 

True Delicacy, 319 

On my own Poems, 320 

To Mr. John Hamilton Reynolds, 321 

T.o R. Rylance ; then in Scotland, 32^2 

Another farewell to the Muse, 323 

Written on a frosted window, ,...., 324 

To William Roscoe, Esq. 325 

To Mrs. Mary Yates, (Shakspeare's Crab-tree,) 326 

To Mr. D. Parkes, Shrewsbury, 327 

Another to John Clavering Wood, Esq .. 448 

To Thomas Bewick, 449 

On leaving Gresford i 450 

Concluding Sonnet on the Sonnet, 328 

aSritfei) ilelolries, anO ctljer ©onp* 

Address to the Welsh Harp, 376 

Ode to Harmony, 21 

The Break of Day, .- 348 



COKTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Skylark, ^^'^ 

Through the tints of t^ie Rainbow, 10 

The Soft-flowing Avon, 347 

Margaret that lost her garter, 384 

The live-long night ; (I think on thee) ...... 385 

The Daughter of Megan, 38 

Oh I ponder well, ye lovers light, 387 

Why should I sigh? 194 

Good-humour'd and cheery, ir « •'• 388 

By Fairy's aid I saw display^, 390 

Loth to depart, 392 

The Minstrelsy of Chirk Castle, 393 

Reged, a Bridal Song, 395 

Love had a Castle in the air, .............. 396 

Though my lodging be on the cold ground, . . 351 

In all thy majesty of Charms, 398 

The Pursuit of Love, .* 400 

Maltraeth, 402 

The Allurement of Love, 404 

Cease your funning, 405 

The dimpled cheek, 407 

Young Sally, 408 



CONTENTS/ 

PAGE 

New-year^s Eve, 410 

The Princess Charlotte*s Dirge, ............ 412 

Morva RhudtilaH, ...,.*,,.*<•*•.«.•*•. 414 

A health to the Brave, * »-. » . XA » /.' *.. , . . , . 415 

The Cornish May-song, .^ ^... 416 

I*inkey house^ , 193 

I hae lost a heart, sweet lassie, 194 

Robin Adair, ,. i ^...... 417 

Woman's love! away, {Dusty Miller) ....... 4S0 

The Lay of HoePs Harp, (Myfanwy ) ....:.. 422 

The Song of Summer, ( Havod) ^ . ^ , 423 

Bodlondeb, ; 424 

Come, haste to the Wedding, 425 

Pray tUifjk Rotof me, 426 

Angler's comic song, 45 1 

The Goblins' Glee, 454 

The Fairy Glee,. , 456 

The Good Man's Grave, Dirge, 458 

In every plac€, at^v'ry hour, (Universal Hymn) 428 

What have I don« ? {Contentment Hymn) .... 430 

Hymn f<ar Ladies' Clab, 432 



CONTENTS. 

Sweet Fancy, free ad vance, 340 

A blossom'd wreathe, • 341 

Oh ! 'twas a day of dear delight, * 341 

Nor clock nor calendar Til seek, ........... 342 

The Sirens of the Shore, .» , 343 

Alcaic, (Latin) 344 

Roundelay ; 'Tis life to young lovers, ...*... 345 

Cljeatricate. 

Epilogue for Theatricals at Prado, . . . • *..... 268 

Prologue for a Farce, London, • . . . , 266 

Prologue, Shrewsbury, Industrious Poor, ..... 434 

Actresses' Epilogue, Shrewsbury, 437 

Prologue, for benefit of Oswestry Library, ..... 439 

tumorous poemsJ. 

The Lawyer seeking a Saint, 2M 

l^rometheus, done into doggrel, 237 

The Weddiug-shoes, ,..,... 252 




CONTENTS. 

PAG 

Old Nick, (Breidden) 259 

To Mrs. Reynolds^ with a Goose, 270 

Burlesque paraphrase of 1st Ode of Horace, . . 273 

Myself and Echo ; a Dialogue, ., 276 

A Cruel Case, 352 

Momus turned Minstrel ; or, Apollo's Prophecy, 441 

Bookworms, how to kill, 3o4 



|! 




W. MorriSi Printer, Shrexcshury. 



I 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: April 2009 

Preservationlechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 
(724)779-2111 



